


Better When I'm With You

by thelilacfield



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Coming Out, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pansexual Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2019-07-02 10:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 61,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15795045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: He’s had a number of firsts. Virginia Reed, his first crush. Wanda Maximoff, his first kiss. Eve Simon, his first heartbreak. Mandy Fournier, the first girl who said yes when he asked her to dance. And he’s becoming increasingly certain that Sam Wilson is his first love.Vision writes a letter each time he has a crush so consuming he can’t forget it. They are tiny pieces of his heart, written out for his eyes only, a way to say goodbye.Until the day they’re sent out.





	1. maybe i should stop and start confessing

**A/N:** It's a  _To All The Boys I've Loved Before_ AU, y'all! I couldn't resist framing the frankly adorable concept of this movie around Vision and Wanda. Hopefully it's as soft and fluffy and romantic as you would expect! Drop me a comment to let me know if you enjoy :)

* * *

_You were the one, the first person to show me a part of myself I had never seen before. I know that you can never have these feelings for me. But I will always be at the football games, and it will be you I’m cheering for. If you were mine, I never would’ve left. I would’ve packed you into my suitcase and taken you with me. Or I would’ve stayed. Never left you. If you were mine, I would never in a million years have broken up with you._

The familiar  _ping_  of his phone distracts Vision from rereading the letter, the words that are his, his heart bled out onto the paper through his sleek calligraphy pens, all the aching dreams of a boy with feelings he couldn't control, those daydreams spilled out onto the page. From the evening of the day he heard that Sharon Carter was moving to England to live with her aunt, and everyone whispered that she had taken half of Sam Wilson's heart with her. When he let everything rise to the surface and wrote this letter, and then folded it away and hid it with the other four.

**From: Helen**

I'm so sorry, sweetheart, the results are taking longer than we estimated to calibrate and I won't be home until late. You'll have to make dinner for yourself x

**To: Helen**

Don't worry, I will.

**From: Helen**

I'm sorry, sweetheart. I promise we'll have dinner together one night this week. We could order pizza and watch movies on Friday night? I'll leave Justine in charge of the labs x

**To: Helen**

Whatever you want, I don't mind. I know this experiment is important.

**From: Helen**

You're important too. Invite Tony and Bruce over, I don't want you to be lonely xxx

Folding the letter carefully back into the box and clasping it shut before pushing it into his closet, right at the back next to his model of the solar system that he still likes to look at sometimes - remembering the nights in the hotel room while Helen was at conferences and meetings, with music playing softly and a paintbrush in his hand - he goes down to the kitchen, choosing a cookbook from the carefully alphabetised shelf and turning to one of his marked pages.

After he calls them, Tony and Bruce turn up at his door within five minutes, no doubt courtesy of the flashy new car Tony has parked in the empty driveway while he bangs the flat of his hand against the door until Vision opens it and his friends spill into the kitchen. "What the hell is this music?" Tony asks loudly, helping himself to a peach and sniffing the air appreciatively. "And what are you cooking?"

"You won't get any if you insult my music," Vision says, and Tony looks contrite. "It's noodles and blackbean sauce. There's lemonade in the fridge if you want some."

"I'm sorry Helen had to work late, Vision," Bruce says gently, and Vision just shakes his head. Helen adopted him almost ten years ago, and spending evenings alone while she's working has just become a fact of life. He likes it - he's learned to cook because of it, to sew, read so many books and spent so many hours on Pinterest, making perfectly organised boards. Everyone has a little loneliness in their life. He doesn't feel bad about it.

"My curfew is midnight, and Mom said Jarvis will tell her if I'm late back," Tony says, rolling his eyes. Vision has only been to the Stark manor once, but remembers the kind-faced butler, Tony's intimidating father and his sweet mother. Tony always says - boasts - he only goes to public school because he got kicked out of too many private schools to be allowed into another.

"Well that's sensible," Vision says, carefully tasting the sauce and feeling the warm swell of satisfaction when it tastes exactly the way it should. Exactly the way Helen makes it. "School starts soon, after all."

"Don't remind me," Tony groans, and Bruce gives him a glance over his glasses. They must be new, slipping down his nose like that.

"You know all you have to do is sign the name Stark and you'll get into any college you want," Bruce reproaches Tony, who still groans, sinking his head down onto the striped tablecloth. "Where do you want to go, Vision?"

"I'm not sure," Vision says with a shrug, draining the noodles and portioning them carefully out into three bowls. "I haven't decided what I want to major in. Perhaps Computer Science, or maybe History, or Music or Art."

"As long as you're not applying to study Literature," Tony says, head lifted from the table the moment Vision sets a bowl in front of him. "They won't be impressed with your essay about how the most significant book you've ever read is  _The Sea Suitor_."

A blush flaring hot in his cheeks, Vision tries to explain, "They're Helen's books, not mine. Very useful for waiting in the lab during experiments. And Harlequin romance is actually a very interesting genre-"

"We know you just read them for the bodice-ripping," Tony says, and Vision only blushes darker, staring resolutely down at his food. "Maybe I should try them out. Could pick up some tips for when I get to go travelling without my parents."

"They're just love stories, Tony," Bruce says, and gives Vision a reassuring smile. "Lots of people read and love them. They can't all be wrong."

"Lots of people think that the teachers who chaperone the ski trip do a great job, doesn't mean any of them are right," Tony says, speaking around a mouthful of noodles. "Speaking of which, either of you gonna come on it with me this year? Last hurrah, you know! Maybe you could use it to get in with that redhead, Banner!"

"Natasha is actually in AP Physics with me this year," Bruce says, spots of colour appearing high on his cheeks when he says her name. "So I don't need to come on the expensive ski trip to talk to her."

"You're no fun," Tony says, and Bruce shakes his head. "What about you, Vision? I promise it's fun."

"No thank you," Vision says politely, and Tony narrows his eyes at him. Mercifully, he doesn't pursue the matter. Going on the ski trip would be simply asking for trouble, that's what Vision always tells himself. Too many people in the same chalet, all the rumours about what people get up to after the chaperones go to bed, and he's seen the pictures. The steep hills, the thick snow, the wind whipping sharply through it all. Sam Wilson in front of the fire, Sharon Carter curled into his side, the power couple...

Shaking off the daydream of what the snow could do for romance, the crackling fire like there is in so many scenes where the dashing rogue speaks softly to the frightened young maiden, their lips meeting while passion flickers like a flame between them, he lets the conversations between Bruce and Tony flow over him, the chatter about what going back to school will be like, the plan for one last trip to the mall for notebooks and pens and socks before they go back, and Bruce tentatively suggesting, "We could all get breakfast on the first day."

"You want me to get up that early on the first day of senior year?" Tony asks with a pointed arch of his eyebrow, and Bruce shrugs. "Can we go to the café where the blonde waitress makes my coffee extra extra strong when I ask nicely?"

"Of course," Bruce says, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "They have the biggest portions and they season their eggs perfectly."

"I'll miss the place when we all go off to college," Tony says mournfully, and Vision tries not to think about it. The fact that applications and the end of high school and the inevitable drifting apart from all his friends is so close makes him feel sick with anxiety.

Helen still isn't home at eleven when Bruce nudges Tony into leaving, and Vision swings the door open to say goodbye to them. "I'll come pick you up for the mall!" Tony calls over the top of his car, and Vision just nods, pulling his sweater tighter to his skin at a gust of wind along the road.

The wind tugs the papers he was about to throw into the recycling out of his hands, wheeling them along the street, and he chases them as Tony's lights fade, desperately trying to gather the pamphlets and loose bits of scrap paper before they end up all over the street. Crouched at the sidewalk trying to gather them all, he starts when another hand starts to help, and looks up directly into Sam Wilson's bright eyes, swallowing thickly and willing himself not to blush. "Thank you," he says, and his voice sounds pathetically grateful. And muted by the nerves drying his mouth.

"Doing your part for the environment, huh?" Sam teases, and Vision just nods silently, looking at the boy he's lived next to for so long and never seemed to speak to very much. Dark hair buzzed short, laughing eyes, and his clothes are undeniably cool, black shirt and leather jacket, the sort of effortless style that looks good only on boys confident enough to carry it. Which Sam Wilson, captain of the football team, certainly is. "I was on my way over to yours."

"Oh...um...why?" Vision asks, his mind conjuring up a sudden scenario where Sam was coming to confess his feelings, to say that he had these stirrings even while he was dating Sharon, that now he know the true love of his life was right next door all along.

"Mom saw that Helen's car still wasn't back, and she wanted me to bring cookies over," Sam says, holding out a covered plate, and Vision can see his hand shaking when he goes to take it, a blush creeping up his neck when his fingers brush against Sam's. "They're chocolate chip. Hopefully you like that."

"They're my favourite," Vision says softly, and Sam grins at him, a lopsided quirk to his lips that makes the whole world want to stop and watch him smile. At least, it should.

"I won't tell my mom you said that, or she'll make them every week," Sam says, and Vision tries to chuckle, though his throat is so dry with nerves only a slightly strangled sound akin to a crow's caw comes out.

"I'd like that," he says, and Sam grins.

"I'll get you the recipe, I'd rather my mom was making cookies for me," he says, and Vision just nods, completely lost for words. "Enjoy them. Bring the plate back whenever, it doesn't matter."

"Thank you," Vision says, desperately hoping he doesn't sound too pathetic, or too grateful, but also not like he expected this, like he thinks he deserves this, like he's arrogant.

"No problem," Sam says, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops. So effortless, and so undeniably handsome in the late evening light. "Goodnight, Vision."

Vision manages to get out a hoarse, "Goodnight," but Sam has already walked away. And he's left to throw a bundle of paper into the recycling and go back inside, taking half the cookies and another glass of lemonade up to his bedroom. Reaching into his closet and pulling out the pale blue box, unclasping it and drawing out the letter he didn't put back into its envelope, smoothing out the creases with infinite gentleness. Taking his special writing pen from the pot on his desk, the one with the perfectly black ink that comes out so smoothly across the page, he stares down at the letter and adds just a few more words.

_P.S.:_ _I think I love you. I think that you might be my first love. Ever since you stopped that ball hitting me so long ago, I’ve liked you. And that’s terrible. I should be over it. And yet I’m not. I can’t be. Not as long as you’re the very first boy I’ve ever liked. I wish it wasn’t like this. But it is._

_I like you, Sam. And I know that you will never, never like me back._

* * *

Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he goes downstairs, rubbing a towel through the still damp hair at the back of his head, Vision smiles softly when he finds a plate of neatly arranged fruit waiting for him next to half a carton of the spiced vanilla yoghurt he likes, a note folded atop the apple juice carton.

_Sorry, sweetie, had to go to the labs early. Have a good first day back, I promise I'll be home in time for dinner xx_

Although Tony will be swinging by to pick him up soon, he can't leave the fruit Helen took the time to arrange in perfect rings for him, and eats while he double checks that he has all his textbooks and notepads in his satchel, twitching his nose every few seconds as his new glasses keep sliding down. Another look at his timetable, just to be sure he knows where he's expected to be. Glancing at himself in the mirror over the shoe rack, smoothing his new vest down over his chest, tugging at the cuffs of his skirt to be sure they're straight and the sleeves aren't riding up. His shoes are polished to the perfect shine, done last night while he laid out his clothes for the first week and listened to his new audiobook romance novel.

An imperious honk of a car horn outside, and he swings his satchel over his shoulder and locks the door behind him, Tony's flashy new car in the driveway and getting envious looks from some of the younger children from down the street running to catch the bus. "Morning nerd," Tony says cheerfully, twisting in the driver's seat with a steaming Starbucks cup on one hand and a grin on his face, dressed as ostentatiously as he always is on the first day back at school, a pair of sunglasses that were no doubt ludicrously expensive perched atop his perfectly-gelled hair.

"Aren't you getting coffee at breakfast?" Vision asks, gesturing at the cup, and Tony laughs.

"It's the first day back, buddy," he says, taking a long drink of his Starbucks before he pulls out of the driveway. "I need to be so caffeinated I can't see straight."

"Are those new glasses, Vision?" Bruce asks with a gentle smile, and Vision smiles back, pushing them up his nose again.

"Helen thought I should get some plain frames for senior year," he says, proudly touching the heavy black frames that Helen told him made him look older.

The diner parking lot is filled with familiar cars, cars Vision has cycled past most days since everyone started to turn sixteen and get their licenses, and Tony's car is the most ostentatious of all, pulled into a space and Tony pulling his sunglasses down, looking like the richest kid in the neighbourhood strutting into the diner - which, of course, he is. Mercifully, he does at least listen when Vision hisses, "Not there," and lead them to a quieter booth in the back of the diner, rather than near any of the popular crowd.

"Stop it," Tony says, giving Bruce a pointed glance for shooting a wistful look the way of the pretty redhead laughing in the centre of the popular crowd, her outfit all black and leather despite the fact that it's still sunny outside. "Unless you're going to actually make a move, you don't get to look all soulfully across rooms at her. It offends my sensibilities."

"You don't have any," Bruce says, but mildly. Sitting down and burying himself in the menu while Tony pins on a charming smile and immediately launches into a mildly flirtatious conversation with their waitress.

Carefully climbing out of the booth to go to the counter and look at the selection of home baking, self-consciously smoothing his vest over his shirt, Vision blushes when he bumps against one of the tables, knocking Natasha Romanoff's cup of coffee over all over the table. "I'm so sorry," he says frantically, grabbing a wad of napkins from the dispenser behind him and attempting to clean up, cheeks hot with embarrassment when he sees the slight purse of her crimson-painted lips.

"Still clumsy, Shade?" Pietro Maximoff asks, feet kicked casually up on the back of a chair, a lazy smirk curling one corner of his mouth, his arm extended along the back of his sister's chair. Trying to avoid eye contact with either of them, Vision lifts the sodden wad of tissues away from the table, so flustered he can hardly hear a thing. "You should return that vest to Goodwill, the old man that donated it probably misses it."

" _Pietro_ ," his sister says warningly, and Vision feels a swoop in his stomach when his eyes stray to Wanda Maximoff. Not a huge swoop, like it does when he looks at Sam. Just a small one. In memory of the two long years he spent so hung up on those pretty green eyes and her smile. "Nice glasses, Vision."

"Thank you," he says, voice small, and walks back to his booth a little faster than strictly necessary, still blushing by the time the waitress brings him a plate of French toast, staring down at the generous dusting of sugar with his insides coiling up in embarrassment.

"And here's the princess herself," Tony says under his breath as another redhead sweeps into the diner, and makes quite the show of shoving a few people aside so she can sit with Pietro.

"I thought they broke up," Bruce says, peering at the couple. And though Vision knows they're ridiculous, that their cycle of breaking up and getting back together and keeping everyone entranced through every dramatic occurence will end when they inevitably go to separate colleges, he still feels a swell of wistfulness watching the performance of their love. The kiss, the way Crystal curls into Pietro's side, her hand on his thigh. So casual and easy and perfect.

"Why are you staring so hard?" Tony asks, bringing Vision back down to Earth and out of a ridiculous daydream of ever being like that. He'll never be like Crystal, pulling Pietro's letterman jacket from the back of his chair and wearing it like a cape around her shoulders. He's not going to be part of a couple in the diner - least of all with anyone who owns a letterman jacket. "You don't have a thing for Crystal, do you?"

"Of course not!" Vision rushes out.

"Good, because I was going to tell you to stay away from that," Tony says, shaking his head dramatically. "It's not Maximoff, is it?"

"No!" Vision protests, even more vehemently, panic constricting in his chest. Maybe Tony has somehow figured it out, he's seen the looks, somehow he forgot to clear his search history on his laptop and his friends saw, they  _know_. "Why would you even  _think_ that?!"

"Kidding, big guy, we all know you're a ladies man," Tony says, clapping him hard on the shoulder. "We all still remember that party in middle school when you got it in with Wanda."

"It was Spin the Bottle, Tony," Vision says, willing himself not to blush at the memory. His first kiss, in a circle in a room lit by tangles of fairy lights, with very green eyes shining and looking into his. The longest love story, the longest letter, the longest he entertained a fantasy with someone. Looking at Wanda now, passing her every day in the corridors, he remembers some of the thoughts he had late at night, the confessions and kisses and moments he imagined, and watches her for just a moment too long.

"Still counts," Tony says stubbornly, and Bruce shakes his head, rolling his eyes at Vision over his mug of herbal tea. "You might've gotten in there if her brother wasn't so protective."

"She's too cool for me," Vision says, a little wistful, and hastily adds, "And I never liked her that much anyway. It was a kiss at a party when we were thirteen."

"You never forget your first," Tony says sagely, and Vision flushes, ducking his head to hide the colour flaring along his cheekbones.

He's had a number of firsts. Virginia Reed, his first crush, all bright eyes and dark skin and bouncy curls and her lively, infectious laugh. Wanda Maximoff, his first kiss, with her hair in neat braids and the little self-conscious tugs on her short skirt and the tiny stutter in her breath after she pecked him on the lips that he replayed ten thousand times in his head. Eve Simon, his first heartbreak, watching her kiss Ryan Green in the light of the campfire on the last night of camp. Mandy Fournier, the first girl who said yes when he asked her to dance, in her pretty green dress that shone in the swirling lights. And, increasingly, he's wondering if Sam Wilson is his first love. It would be just like a novel for his first love to be unrequited, to shatter his heart, to make him realise things about himself he didn't know before so he can grow and learn from it and bloom into someone worthy of a grandiose, passionate, storybook love.

But right now, he's seventeen and closeted and hopelessly in love with the definitely heterosexual captain of the football team. And it's the loneliest feeling in the world. To have that huge secret, and to just keep it within himself, scared to even drop hints. Terrified of the consequences of allowing anyone to find out. Sure, Nebula is out and has been since freshman year - but she's tough, and has the protection of popularity by association with her sister and her football-playing boyfriend. He's not untouchable like her. He's invisible, aside from the occasional glance when Tony is being particularly obnoxious in the hallways. Coming out would be giving up that invisibility, and he's not sure he's ready for that.

Walking around school, head down and invisible to the hordes of laughing seniors, the air buzzing with excitement to be back for their final year, people talking in carrying voices about college and scholarships and everything that's been keeping Vision awake at night with nerves about the future, he entertains a brief daydream. Imagining people moving aside for him, because he's with Sam Wilson, captain of the football team, and the entire school is hopelessly charmed by him. Being able to be wholly himself, sexuality and all, and no one whispering behind their hands or glaring at him or acting like he isn't even there. They'd see him then. He wouldn't just be a paper boy, easily crumpled and hidden in a drawer. People looking right through him like he isn't even there. A ghost of a person.

Picking listlessly at a cafeteria salad while he organises his carefully colour-coded notes into the files for each subject - AP Literature, AP Computer Science, Calculus, Art, History - Vision looks up at the group of the popular ones, the loudest and busiest table in the place. Wonders if they can feel how wistfully so many look at them, their seemingly effortless social standing and the way they talk to each other. Tony is wrinkling his noise pointedly at Pietro and Crystal kissing and Bruce is gazing wonderingly at Natasha laughing with Carol Danvers, and Vision watches Wanda. Sitting a little apart from her brother, methodically picking olives from her pizza and setting them on the edge of her plate. She doesn't like them, or perhaps she's saving them for later.

But then his gaze moves to Sam, the centre of the table occupied entirely by the football team, and stays there as if drawn by a magnet. Imagining being at that table like the other people on the team's girlfriends are - he can see Gamora next to Peter Quill, a soft sort of contentment on her face that he never sees in class. The first boyfriend of anyone on the team, watching Sam keep court over the table, another burst of laughter and a grin bringing a brightness to his eyes that's visible even across the cafeteria. Being in the front row of the bleachers at every game, cheering them to victory, having the winning point dedicated to him, going to the legendary post-game parties. Being in love. Being loved back.

He has a free period last, and walks home rather than wait for Tony to be finished, the September sunlight golden and the leaves starting to turn to orange and red, summer fading into autumn. The air is starting to chill, and he's imagining cosy nights around bonfires, toffee apples and mulled cider and cosying into someone else's warmth. Confessions of love that spiral into silvery breath on the frosted air, holding gloved hands and curling into each other's sides as night falls and brings the chill with it. Waving to a child on the elementary school bus peering out of the window, smiling softly at the utter delight on their face, he wonders whether lips are cold when kisses happen in the autumn. Or if they warm up when they move together - and that thought brings a flush to his face.

Shaking himself out of a fantasy, he lets himself back into the empty house, pulling his folders and notebooks out of his satchel before he hangs it carefully back on the hook, rushing up the stairs to stack all his books carefully at the edge of his desk before he rushes back down to get himself a glass of chocolate milk and an illicit handful of marshmallows. Helen won't be home until at least six, and he's expecting another apologetic flurry of texts to tell him the experiment is holding her back again.

Pushing his glasses up his nose and his hair out of his eyes every few moments, little nervous tics while he does all his reading and takes diligent notes until his hand cramps up from writing. Filing everything neatly away and powering up his laptop to scroll through Pinterest, reorganising all his boards and adding a few more recipes to one, a few more cross-stitch patterns to another, and some interior design ideas to the new board he's making for college. Fairy lights are essential, he'll have to be sure to pick more up. And he can't help thinking the house needs a few more plants, to add some green interest to the walls.

He's halfway through watching a fourth tutorial on flower arranging when he hears an engine outside, and bolts to the window to see Helen's sleek black car pulling up, excitement bubbling up in his chest even as he tries to calm it. He's seventeen, not seven, and yet he still gets a thrill of excitement when Helen comes home. He can blame it on how little they've seen each other lately, with her always being in the labs with her experiments.

"Hi sweetheart!" she says as soon as she's in the door, hanging up her bag and her coat and throwing her keys into the bowl, and he can't help a smile at her. "You look surprised! I told you I'd be home, didn't I?" Running a hand through her hair, trading her trainers for the pale purple checked slippers she keeps by the door, she smiles up at him and says, "Denise is finishing everything off at the lab. I said I had to get home to my son and find out how his first day of senior year was!"

"It was fine," he says, and Helen gives him one of her looks. "I went for breakfast with Tony and Bruce this morning, almost the whole year was there. I like all the teachers I'll have this year, and I think I can cope with the workload."

"Of course you can," she says warmly, and moves past him with an affectionate brush of her hand over his shoulder to open the drawer they keep takeout menus in. "Should we order in tonight? We can get that cheesy garlic bread you like."

He nods, smoothing his vest down again and bypassing the kitchen table to fold himself into the armchair, tucking his feet beneath him and watching Helen moving around the kitchen, getting the unopened bottle of Coke from the cupboard and pulling down two glasses for them to use, a roll of kitchen roll set on the coffee table and Netflix opened. "Action, science fiction, or romance?" she asks, and then laughs softly to herself. "Romance, obviously. Right, sweetheart?"

"Always," he says with a grin at his adoptive mother, and she smiles at him, hitting play on  _The Princess Bride_  and pulling her laptop towards her to order them pizza.

Warmth blossoming in his chest as he watches Westley whisper, "As you wish," to Buttercup, he fidgets with one of the silver buttons on his vest and asks, "Helen? Did you have any relationships in senior year?"

"I did, I had a boyfriend from sophomore year," Helen says, her eyes clouding with the soft glow of nostalgia. "Theodore. Everyone called him Teddy. But we broke up before college, my mother always told me not to go to college with a boyfriend, that lots of intelligent people don't go as far as they could because they cling to high school relationships."

"Do you think people shouldn't go to college with a high school partner?" Vision asks, a little mournfully. To think even if he did somehow find a girlfriend (or a  _boyfriend_ ) in the next few months that Helen would tell him to break up with them is a little heartbreaking.

"Oh, I don't know, I think it depends on the relationship," she says with a shrug. "Teddy and I broke up pretty mutually. He met a girl in junior year of college, now they're married with three kids. It certainly worked for some people I was at school with. Both people just have to put equal effort in." She glances sideways at him with a sly slant of a smile and asks, "Why? Do you have a sweetheart, sweetheart?"

"No," he says, even though Sam's face is floating through his mind, the way his teeth are so white when he smiles, how generous and warm his laugh is, the constant wondering about how his buzzed hair would feel beneath Vision's hands. "People aren't interested in me, Helen."

"They should be," she says. "You're handsome and kind and you dress better than any of those idiots who never seem to take off their letterman jackets. Girls should be falling over themselves to date you."

"They're not," he says with a casual shrug, like the fact that no one seems to want to date him isn't something he thinks about every day. His fantasies and the well-thumbed romance novels don't quite make up for the fact that he doesn't have that in real life, no one to hold his hand and kiss his cheek and put their arm around him.

Helen doesn't try to continue the conversation while they eat pizza, and Vision lets himself get sucked into the movie, the romance of it all. Imagining Sam's eyes behind Westley's mask, his cheeks flushing each time they kiss, thinking of that moment with  _him_. A kiss that isn't like the shy peck in Spin the Bottle four years ago, but a real kiss. With lips and hands and  _everything_. The kind of kiss he reads about in his novels and blushes over, imagining the day he'll finally be kissed like that. When someone will want him like that.

"You know it's good that you're a late bloomer with relationships," Helen says as the credits roll, while Vision is still dreamily thinking of the last kiss, the kiss that overpowered all of those considered the most passionate, the most pure. "It means you're more mature. Any relationship you get into now has a much better chance of lasting. You won't mistake an infatuation for real love."

If she knew about the letters, the five loves of Vision's life, she wouldn't think that. He doesn't know where the line between infatuation and love is, but everything he feels is overwhelming, all he thinks about, and he's sure that can't just be a crush. It's not about giggling and blushing and writing his name together with theirs on the back cover of his notebook. He thinks of them every moment of the day, he has his daydreams of what their lives together might be like, their ghosts haunting him. Writing the letters is a way to end the haunting, to lay their ghosts and all those fantasies to rest.

She goes to bed as soon as they've finished half a tub of ice cream, apologising that she has to be in the lab early again and she won't be around for breakfast, and he switches on his fairy lights and sits on his bed and plugs himself into his headphones and listens to the same romance novel, adding a few more inches to the scarf he's working on while he listens to the beautiful confessions of love, giving him the same clenching in his chest they always do.

He'll have that one day. He has to believe that, or what else is there? Romance is waiting out there in the world for him. And, until the day his soulmate is standing with him, it's okay to have fantasies. Love is the biggest, scariest thing in the world. But daydreams are simple. And he can live in daydreams.

* * *

The forbidden fruit is always the sweetest, the kiss that could mean so much. The potential of it hangs in the air, the breeze lifting in a whisper of hope, that he'll come. Even though he's been trying to pull away, always speaking of his dark past, he will come. He will know that their love is undeniable, that it doesn't matter about their lives before their wonderfully fated meeting. They can be  _together_.

A step behind him, and he spins and Samuel is there, the familiar grin on his handsome face, and they're walking towards each other, joining hands, and he can feel the beat of his heart in every inch of his body, a thumping tattoo against his ears. Samuel runs a hand tenderly through his hair, and the air is electric, the taste of anticipation, and Samuel is leaning in...

" _Boo_!" Vision starts violently, dropping his book and losing his place, and Tony is grinning, leaning over the bookshelf and staring down at Vision curled onto a beanbag at the back of the library. "I thought you were gonna come meet us so we could go off-campus for lunch!"

"I'm sorry, Tony, I came to sit and read during my free period, and I guess I just got sucked into the book," Vision says bashfully, a blush creeping up his neck, his heart still beating a little faster. The fantasy felt so real, he can imagine so perfectly the weight of a crown on his head, the sweet ache of forbidden love, the way Sam would move his fingertips so gently through his hair before he leaned in for the kiss. The big moment, the perfect meeting of two mouths, two people realising they belong together.

"What's the story of this week's bodice-ripper?" Tony asks, arching an eyebrow.

"Um, it's actually about a princess and she falls in love with a mysterious stranger who comes to the castle for shelter, and he has a dark past and she can't figure him out, and there's a lot of times they almost kiss and she's never sure if he likes her or not," he rushes out, while Tony just looks at him, faintly shaking his head. "I was almost at the kiss!"

"You can finish it later," Tony says with a grin. "C'mon, that Korean barbecue place has a three meals for the price of two discount, we need you to complete the trio."

Slotting his book carefully back into his satchel and hauling the strap over his shoulder, Vision stands up carefully and dusts himself down before he follows Tony out of the library and into his car, off campus and out towards town, where they will no doubt see any number of seniors eating at the food court and shopping in the time they have for lunch. Laughing in huge groups of friends, tossing coins and wishes into the fountain, couples holding hands walking around. All the sights that will make loneliness sting in Vision's chest.

Tony is the one leading them through the mall, pausing briefly outside a few windows to look at the clothes the mannequins are wearing until they get to the Korean barbecue restaurant, the hostess smiling warmly at them and shepherding them to a table, and Vision can only look at the groups passing him. The Starbucks is across from them, tables sprawling outside it, and the football team are gathered there, and he has to force himself to stop letting his eyes wander over their faces before he reaches Sam's. All he's doing is hurting himself, looking at someone he can't have. Making him a fantasy because he's too afraid to come out, and even if he did Sam is straight. How cliché, to develop a hopeless crush on a straight boy.

"Any progress with Romanoff, Bruce?" Tony asks as he turns the meat on the grill between them, and Bruce just looks at him. " _What_? I'm expressing an interest in you acting on this crush you've had for a whole damn year. I'm sick of sitting around while you scroll through her Instagram and sigh dreamily."

"She sits in front of me in AP Physics, and we talk," Bruce says thinly. "She's very sweet if you just talk to her instead of believing the ice queen rumours."

"You're doing great, Brucie," Tony teases, and Bruce rolls his eyes. "What about you, Vision? You got your eye on anyone?"

"Don't be silly," Vision says, keeping his gaze firmly on his plate and not letting it stray towards Sam. "I'm far too busy to have crushes."

"Yes, you and your books and your knitting and your flower arranging are very busy," Tony says, and Vision blushes. "Hey, I'm not ragging on your hobbies! I love my scarf, you know I do. But there must be  _someone_."

"There's not," Vision insists, and mercifully Tony doesn't try to tease him again while they eat, eyes constantly slanting to the clock to be sure they have time to get back to school. He's not sure why he feels like he can't be honest with his friends and just tell them how he feels, but he  _can't_. The thought of letting even one person know that he has daydreams about kissing another boy fills him with worry. Coming out is such a huge unknown, a fog of all the possible reactions, and his mind always goes straight to the worst ones. The ones where he's shut out of the lives of all his friends, just for something he can't help.

When they've finished eating and Tony has waved both him and Bruce away and paid the bill himself, Vision glances at Starbucks longingly, dreaming about being a part of that gilded set. Laughing and grinning and gaining admiring glances, not hiding himself. "I wanna go try on that shirt," Tony says. "We've got about fifteen minutes, you two coming with me?"

"I think I'm going to look into the book store and see if they have any Russian dictionaries," Bruce says, and walks away before Tony can question him.

"I'm gonna go get a drink before we go back," Vision says, gaze drawn like magnet to Starbucks.

"Great, I'll come with you!" Tony says, and Vision just smiles a tight smile. With Tony walking with him, his breathing is slightly shallow with nerves. He has to curl his fingers into fists to stop them visibly trembling as he walks past Sam. Willing him to turn around a smile, like they have a connection. But of course he doesn't. To Sam, Vision is just his next door neighbour, the quietest person in their year. They don't have any sort of connection except the one in Vision's head.

Lifting his satchel onto the nearest table and opening it to start the search for his wallet while Tony goes straight to join the queue, he winces when his grip slips and everything falls off the edge of the table with an almighty clatter that makes everyone look at him, flushing as he ducks down and tries to gather them all up. Trust him to knock his things over in a Starbucks filled to the brim with his peers.

A pale hand, rings on every finger, is suddenly helping him, handing him the few pens that have been rattling around loose in his bag, and he looks up to Wanda smiling at him. Her eyes look particularly green, perhaps thanks to the heavy dark wing of her eyeliner, and her lipstick is faded at the centre of her mouth. "Thank you," he says, very quietly, and her eyes  _shine_.

"No problem," she says, helping him carefully slip his books back into his satchel. "You have a lot of books."

"AP Literature," he says with a shrug, and she glances down curiously at the copy of  _Wuthering Heights_  in her hands. "Thank you."

"You said that," she says with another wide smile, and it's infectious, his lips slowly turning up to match hers. "Your hair looks nice today."

"I just...I just combed it," he says, straightening up, and she follows him. He's never realised how tall he is compared to her now. Back in middle school he hadn't hit his growth spurt yet, and now even in her slightly scuffed heeled red boots she barely reaches his shoulder.

"You've always had lovely hair," she says, and he's still blushing, his face hot.

"Are you seriously wearing a  _bowtie_ , Shade?" comes the familiar voice, and Pietro is standing over his sister, a superior smirk on his lips, and Vision raises an almost defensive hand to his bowtie. The one he was so happy to wear this morning, the blue in it the same as his socks. Perfectly coordinated.

"It's vintage," he says, and Pietro just curls his lip.

"I like it," Wanda says, and holds out Vision's wallet, the lovely pale blue leather that he bought for senior year. "See you out on the track, Vision. I heard Ms. Hill is gonna have us running laps."

"Okay," Vision says, the only response he can summon when he's still blushing, and Wanda smiles at him before she walks away.

"I did the good friend thing and got you your hot chocolate!" Tony pipes up, making Vision start. "Even got you marshmallows and extra whipped cream." Glancing out of the door, he smirks and asks, "So what's with you and Maximoff? Are you gonna go for it?"

"For the last time, Tony, we were thirteen," Vision says, snatching his hot chocolate from Tony's hand and walking away.

"And she was pretty then and she's hot now," Tony says with a shrug, and Vision just sighs. "Come on, she was checking you out!"

Vision doesn't even bother to respond to that, just following Tony into the store he wanted to look inside and then to his car and back to school. For him to act like Wanda likes him is just ridiculous. All they shared was a brief kiss at a party four years ago, and since then Vision has had three more crushes. Written three more letters.

And these days, all he can think about is Sam.

* * *

"I brought movies!" Tony says as soon as Vision opens the door, throwing a bag onto the couch that's so full DVDs start spilling out as soon as it hits the cushions. "All the best action and sci-fi and horror!"

"Oh," Vision says, slightly hollow with disappointment. "But I thought we could watch-"

"No offense, Vision, but if I have to sit through  _When Harry Met Sally_  one more time I'm going to snap and go on a rom-com themed killing spree," Tony says, and Vision deflates, Bruce giving him a sympathetic look as he sorts through the stacks on offer.

"Well you shouldn't  _tell_  us that, Tony," Helen says from the kitchen, still stirring the vast pot of macaroni and cheese, in her slippers and the tie-dye shirt Vision made her at camp when he was fourteen and she still insists on wearing. "Now if you do it we can't say in court that we had no idea you would do it."

"You wouldn't lie for me, Doctor Cho?" Tony asks, batting his eyelashes theatrically at Helen, who just rolls her eyes.

"I think we should watch  _Alien_ ," Bruce says, pulling it from the stack. "I've seen one of the spin-offs, but not the original."

"Done," Tony says cheerfully, pulling a share-sized bottle of root beer from his backpack and taking a long drink straight from the bottle.

"Is it scary?" Vision asks forlornly, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and pulling it around himself, the familiar scent of their lavender fabric softener enveloping him, making him feel safe.

"Only a little bit," Tony promises. "And there's a cat. You like cats."

"My college boyfriend loved  _Alien_ ," Helen says, setting a bowl of salad down in the centre of the table, shaking her head at Tony continuing to chug root beer straight from the bottle. "He used to watch at least one of them every week. Full marathons at the end of every exam cycle. It was an important tradition."

"See, it's not scary, people watch them all the time," Tony says, and Vision sighs, accepting the bowl Helen sets carefully in his hands and refilling his lemonade.

"Fine," he says, and Tony gives a none-too-subtle fist pump, sliding off the couch to put the DVD in the player and settle back into his spot. "But can we eat first?"

"Sure," Tony says brightly, and turns to Bruce with a predatory sort of smile. "So any progress with Romanoff?"

"Natasha Romanoff?" Helen asks brightly, and Bruce groans faintly and buries his head in his hands. "She's a very sweet girl. She works at the café I go to for brunch with my co-workers, and she always asks how our work is going and actually listens to the answers. You like her, Bruce?"

"I like her," Bruce says with a shrug, and Vision wonders at the confidence. For all that he considers Bruce to be a fellow introvert, he announces his crush so easily. Vision never told Helen about any of his crushes, it doesn't matter that Sam is another boy. Helen doesn't know about Virginia or Wanda or Eve or Mantis. He keeps those feelings to himself, a bright glow like a star in his chest, all the highs and the lows just for him.

"Tell him he should act on it, Doctor Cho," Tony says around a mouthful of macaroni cheese. "Life's too short to not ask pretty girls out!"

"The worst thing she could do is say no," Helen says fondly. Privately, Vision thinks there are far worse things to be said than a simple no. If he asked Sam out, he could be laughed at. He could be outed to the whole school. He could have his carefully crafted invisibility utterly destroyed.

"Ask her to get dinner before the game," Tony says brightly. "Then it's like a group thing and it's less awkward. I'll chip in so you can get her one of the fancy sundaes."

"She'll be going with the popular crowd," Bruce says, and Tony just shakes his head.

"So we go to the same place and you just happen to run into her," he says. "I got connections, I'll find out where they go. I'll matchmake you together with Romanoff by Christmas, I solemnly swear it!" Eyes gleaming, he grins at Vision and asks, "What about you, big guy? Who've you got your eye on?"

"Nobody," Vision answers hastily, before Helen's eyes can get any brighter, her smile any softer. He can't let her know about his crushes, his feelings for Sam, and he certainly can't have Tony teasing him about the game of Spin the Bottle in front of her. She'd be horrified to think he was playing that.

Once they've finished eating, though Tony is still happily working his way through the pack of mini doughnuts, Helen starts the movie, and Vision is watching the darkness of the screen, knuckles white he's gripping his glass of Coke so tightly. Glancing sideways, he sees the nostalgic smile on Helen's face, and wonders how she can possibly smile when what's happening onscreen is so awful. The thought of being trapped in the middle of space, being hunted in dark corridors by something he can't understand, the claustrophobic atmosphere and the dim lighting and the  _fear_ , he can hardly stand to watch it.

When the alien suddenly appears in front of Dallas he jumps so violently that everything left in his glass splashes onto Tony, and he immediately rushes out, "Oh no, Tony, I'm so sorry, it scared me, I'm sorry!"

"Should've warned you there was a jump scare," Tony says ruefully, dabbing ineffectually at the stains now spreading across his shirt.

"You can borrow something of mine!" Vision says, blushing and flustered at his own mistake. "There are T-shirts on the middle shelf in my closet, a few hoodies hanging up if you're cold. I can show you!"

"I know my way around your house, Vision, I'll go myself," Tony says, and he's being so soothing that it only makes Vision more flustered.

"Do you want us to pause it?" he asks desperately, and Tony just shakes his head.

"I've seen it a hundred times," he says, and leaves the room, and Vision sinks into the couch cushions in embarrassment, wrapping his blanket tighter around himself.

After the movie is finished, he manages to argue Tony down from watching something else horror-influenced and Helen chooses  _27 Dresses_  despite Tony's groaning, and Vision finds himself with his head on his adopted mother's shoulder, watching the love story unfold. With his hot chocolate in his hands, cinnamon added to it specially, he says goodnight to Tony and Bruce when they leave, long before the climax of the film. They'll watch it another time, he'll make sure of it.

Helen goes to bed before he does, and he goes to his room, lying on his bed and gazing up at the spirals of glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. Thinking about the cliché beats of every romantic comedy he loves, that he's watched with Helen, and whether it would be so cliché to have those kisses and those words and those moments himself. A love like the movies.

Even though he knows nothing is ever like the movies, he can't imagine anything better than the perfectly choreographed and timed kisses in romantic places. He wants the kiss in the rain, the accidental eye contact that becomes a tentative kiss, the growing passion when two people desperately in love are forced into a small space together. The whispered confession of love in a perfect place, possibly under a sky filled with stars, the perfect moment of a happy ending. It's all he wants.

* * *

"Pick up the pace, Shade!" Ms. Hill roars from the side of the track, bringing Vision out of a lengthy fantasy in which all these laps are actually him running to meet his true love, to reach them before it's too late and they say yes to another's proposal. "Don't think I don't see that smirk, Stark! You pick it up too!"

Tony mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, " _Bitch_ ," under his breath, breathing coming hard as they round the track for the third time. "You have an unfair advantage, your legs are longer than mine," he whines, and Vision looks over to check that Ms. Hill is watching someone else before he slows down, just a little. "Why do we have to run?"

"It keeps us fit," Vision says, and Tony just snorts. "Physical fitness is very important, Tony!"

"Only if you want a sports scholarship," Tony says. "And my academic prowess guarantees me scholarships without needing to run around this stupid track for forty minutes."

Shaking his head, Vision just keeps running, concentrating on one foot in front of the other. Drifting into a daydream about sprinting along a path through the hills, running towards a church rising dark against the sky, throwing the doors open to protest the wedding, to tell the bright-eyed man he loves him, he always has, he always will...

"Hey! Vision!" Pulled out of fantasy, he turns on his heel and finds Wanda jogging up behind him, her hair bouncing where it's pulled back into a ponytail, barely even pink in the face though they've been jogging for twenty minutes and it's hardly a cold day. "Can I talk to you?"

"But I...I'm running with Tony," he says apologetically, gesturing vaguely.

"No, no, don't keep going on my account," Tony says, grinning. "I'll go see if I can get away with sneaking back inside for the rest of the period."

"You'll get in trouble!" Vision insists frantically.

"Sometimes breaking the rules is the only way to have fun, my friend," Tony says with just the slightest hint of his terrible English accent. "I'll catch you after school if I don't get detention for skipping."

Helplessly watching Tony walk towards the trees by the track, ducking behind one, Vision tries not to fidget too much looking at Wanda, noticing that her eyes are the same green as the leaves that haven't turned to orange yet, and she's frowning up at him, a tiny crease between her eyebrows. "Look, Vision, I'm very flattered," she says, swinging up onto her tiptoes and down again. "And I do think you're very sweet and kind and...well, you're a lovely guy. But Pietro is really weird about me dating, and I was lucky to find this before he did. I mean, it's very nice that you still remember that kiss, and I appreciate that you think my eyes are like the purest emeralds in the world. I liked reading such sweet things. But if Pietro had seen it, you'd be...well, you'd be in trouble."

Staring down at her in confusion, Vision catches sight of the white envelope in her hands. Bordered in stripes of pale pink, with her address written on it in neat black capitals, using a special calligraphy pen.  _His_  special calligraphy pen. It's his love letter, she has it, and he can't  _breathe_ , anxiety swarming like bees into his mind, a high-pitched buzzing sound filling his ears and drowning out Wanda's voice though he can still see her lips moving, and his vision goes fuzzy for a moment before the world goes to black and the ground rushes up to meet him.

He opens his eyes only a few moments later to a blurry world, at least until his glasses are pushed back onto his face, and he twitches his nose to adjust them, blinking until everything comes into focus. Wanda is kneeling over him, her ponytail falling over her shoulder in a waterfall of dark hair, her eyes clouded with concern. "Are you alright?" she asks softly, and he doesn't know whether to nod or to shake his head or to just run away. Go to the nurse's office and tell her he has a migraine and go home to crawl under his blankets and never ever come out again.

"How did you get that letter?" he asks, voice hoarse with panic, and she glances down at the envelope.

"It came to my house," she says, and horror takes a cold grip on Vision's chest.

"Wanda, you...y-you should know I wrote that a really,  _really_  long time ago," he says, frantic and flustered and hardly able to get the words out. "I don't like you like that anymore. I-I-I don't even remember what I said."  _Your face gets even prettier the closer you are to it. I didn't know it was possible for one person to be so beautiful. Like a heroine in a romance novel._ "You were n-never supposed to see it."

"Vision..." Whatever she says next, he doesn't hear. Because he's looking around to see if Ms. Hill has noticed him collapsing, and what he sees is so much worse. Sam Wilson is walking out of the building, his letterman jacket bright red in the light, shading his eyes from the beams of sunlight and looking around the fields. And he's looking at Vision, and starting to walk towards him, and he can't do this, he can't, the letter was sent and someone out there knows he's been nursing a crush on another boy and now Sam knows too, people know long before he's even thought about being ready to come out, they  _know_.

Panic is gripping him again, and Wanda is still talking, and it's out of utter desperation that he lifts himself closer to her and presses his lips to hers, silencing whatever she was saying. In an instant, he realises that he has muscle memory of her lips, the shape of them, the softness. And that they're both awkwardly balanced, and her hair smells like lemon and basil, and they're both wearing the school shorts so her bare skin is brushing his. He pulls away after only a few seconds, and Wanda's breath hitches the same way it did at that party, and he mumbles, "Sorry," and scrambles to his feet, running away from her and past Sam.

"Hey! Vision!" Ignoring Sam calling his name behind him, he runs to the bathroom and locks himself into a stall, breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps, trying to steady himself.

He hears the creak of the hinges and feels the rush of air when the door opens, and tries not to make the slightest sound. "Vision?" Another voice, another one he recognises, and he would very much like for the ground to swallow him up. To wake up and realise all this is a terrible, _t_ _errible_  nightmare. "Are you in here?"

"No," he says immediately, and then kicks himself for being so stupid. A hand appears beneath the partition, a white envelope bordered in stripes of pale green and addressed in his handwriting held out to him.

"I thought I should give this back," Mandy says from the other side of the door. "It seems very personal. And I...I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Taking the envelope from her hand, he opens it and looks at the note inside, the words he wrote while starry-eyed after dancing most of the night with a pretty girl who didn't mind when he stepped on her feet, giggling instead and spinning under his arm. Waiting for their parents to come pick them up with her, giving her his jacket when she was shivering, and she gave him a smile and her sparkly green deely boppers were swaying back and forth and her lipstick was slightly smudged and she was so pretty and sweet, swinging her legs where they were sitting on the wall.

_First, I think it's silly that people call you Mantis. I think your deely boppers are lovely, and your eyes don't bulge out and make you look like a bug at all! It's very interesting that you had a butterfly and beetle collection when you were younger and you want to study bugs. It's good to have ambition!_

_I had a very nice time at Homecoming with you. Your dress was so lovely, green suits you very well. It makes your eyes very shiny. You're a very good dancer, and I'm sorry I stepped on your toes so much!_

_I wish I knew what kind of boys you like. I don't think you have a boyfriend, but maybe there's someone at another school? I don't know anything real about you, only small things. You're vegetarian, and you have pet rabbits, and you're in Astronomy Club. I know that you're a very empathetic person, and that's good. When you gave that speech about accepting ourselves and others at Speech Day I almost cried, it was so good and sweet. I think more people should accept others and also themselves._

_I think you're very special. I think you are probably one of the most special people I have ever met. More people should see that you're special and ask you to dance. I hope that you have someone to dance all your dances with._

"Thank you," he says in small, shy voice, and unclicks the lock. Mantis is standing outside with concern in her dark eyes, hair pulled back in a dark green velvet scrunchie. He's always liked the way she dresses, how well the green suits her, her black denim jacket covered in pins and badges with cheerful little statements like  _have a nice day!_  and  _you are enough_ and the pretty enamel flower captioned with  _keep going, keep growing_. "Mandy, I-"

"It's okay, everyone calls me Mantis," she says with a small smile. "It's a nice nickname. There are worse bugs to be named after. The females eat the males after they mate, it's cool." She gives a little smile, and bobs on the balls of her feet for a moment. "I was flattered, you know."

"I wrote it a really long time ago," he says helplessly.

"Homecoming sophomore year, right?" she asks, and he nods, smiling a little knowing she remembers too. "It was a really nice night, you're a pretty good dancer."

"I stepped on your foot six times," he says, and she laughs softly.

"Apart from that," she says, and then her eyes cloud over and her gaze drops away away his, and she's fidgeting with her fingers, toying with the tiny gold cactus on a chain around her neck. "But...you know I'm gay, right?"

"Oh." He looks down at her for a moment, sees the slight flush staining her cheeks, and says, "I...didn't, no."

"Well, I am," she says, still twirling her necklace. Then she's unfolding her denim jacket from over her arm and opening it to show him the pin on the inside of it, right over where her heart would be. Black letters on a pale green background reading  _I am (discreetly) gay_. And he smiles, and then she looks up and gives him a shy smile too. "My parents know, I'm just...not out at school. It's hard, you know, it's-"

"I understand," he says, and she just looks up at him. "I had a very nice night with you."

"It was fun," she says, and he can see the brightness in her eyes. Like she's happy she told him, and maybe this is the perfect opportunity to tell someone that he isn't straight either. But the words won't come. "It's a very sweet letter, Vision. And...you know, if I wasn't gay, I think I  _would_  date you."

He blushes, and whispers, "That's very nice of you to say."

"You're very sweet," she says, and he grins shyly at her. "I hope you find a girl to dance all of your dances with."

"You too," he says, and Mantis beams at him before she leaves him, standing all alone. A returned love letter in his hand, and the knowledge that the other four are out in the world making him feel ill he's so scared.

He somehow manages to avoid running into Wanda again before he can leave the building entirely behind. Every time he thinks her name his lips tingle, the memory of her kiss like a bruise, and he tries to shake himself walking home, feet moving faster and faster across the sidewalks, trying to escape his thoughts, the embarrassment of all this. Maybe if he just walks fast enough the letters won't have been sent out and everything will have been a terrible dream.

Helen is already home, rolling out a loaf of bread in the kitchen, and she calls out, "There's a letter for you, sweetheart!" when he opens the door. He picks it up, hand shaking, and his heart lurches when he sees the name  _Eve Simon_  on the front of the envelope, his mouth dry. So perhaps only four of the letters made it to their intended recipients. That's better than he expected. Even if this was the shortest letter and the shortest-lived crush and he only wrote it so that Eve was no longer taking up space in his mind after she kissed someone else.

_Camp finished today and I know I will never see you again because we live so far apart. Remember on the second day when I got scared to jump into the water with everyone else and you grabbed my hand and made me jump with you? I do._

_I've been really homesick but you've always made me feel better. I might have left camp early if you hadn't been my friend. And I've had a wonderful summer, so thank you. Also I was really impressed when you made it to the top of the climbing wall first and I like your laugh. I wish it had been me you kissed last night and not Ryan Green. But maybe you and him are meant to be. Have a really great rest of the summer, Eve. And a happy life._

"How was your day, sweetheart?" Helen asks, bringing Vision out of memories of the smell of sunscreen and the sprawling archery range and obstacles courses suspended in the trees and the glittering surface of the lake. Laughter and whooping and making daisy chains and accidentally setting their marshmallows on fire every night.

"I have a lot of homework," he says, and rushes upstairs, throwing his satchel to the floor and rummaging through his closet. The box is still there, the same pale blue with its bright gold clasps, but all the letters are gone, and he's panicking, heart thudding in his ears. Someone found them, someone might have read them, someone has taken those tiny windows into his soul and sent them out into the world. To the hands of the people they were written about.

"Vision!" He starts out of his thoughts at Helen's shout, hitting his hand on the closet shelf before he throws the box into the depths of it and closes the doors firmly behind him. "Vision? Sweetheart? Sam's here to see you!"

Biting at his lip so hard he tastes blood out of sheer frustration, he makes a split second decision. Grapples his satchel open wide enough to pull out his keys and wallet and opens his window, scrambling out onto the gentle slope of the roof outside his bedroom and forcing the window as close to closed as he can from outside before he slides down the roof and drops to the ground. He'd like to think it was graceful, but he stumbles and twists his ankle, limping slightly out of the backyard gate and just starting to walk away, needing to leave the house behind.

He ends up in his favourite coffeeshop, his space, folded onto one of the ancient couches in the back corner, Ruth giving him a sympathetic smile when she sets his milkshake in front of him. "You get extra sprinkles because you look so melancholy today," she says, and he can barely force the corners of his mouth to turn up in a smile. "Cheer up, honey. It can't be all that bad."

"You'd be surprised," he says, and she just shakes her head and walks away to serve another customer. Listlessly stirring his milkshake, he stares at the artwork on the opposite wall and wills himself to wake up in bed, curled into his blankets, for all of this to be a dream. But when he digs his nails into the palm of his hand, it hurts. He's awake, and this is happening, and the people he's loved know about it.

"That looks good." He glances up, and Wanda is standing over the table he's sitting at, her hair flowing loose around her shoulders, giving him a small smile.

"How did you find me?" he asks, a little sharper than he meant to. He's just tightly wound, anxious about everything, and half-expecting Sam to walk through the door too.

"I went to your house, your mom said you'd probably be here," she says, looking around at the wood-panelled walls and the soft lighting. "I like it here too. They have the best gingerbread, have you tried it?"

"Why were you at my house?" he asks, and she sets her bag down and sits on the couch opposite him, tucking her skirt beneath her thighs and glancing up with a serious look on her face.

"I wanna talk about it," she says, and he stares firmly down at the table, methodically stirring his milkshake. "The letter. And the fact that you  _kissed_  me."

"I don't like you like that anymore," he mumbles, feeling his cheeks flare red no matter how hard he wills them not to. "It was just a kiss at a party when we were thirteen. I don't feel that way now."

"Okay, but you kissed me today," she says, and he just shakes his head mutely, taking a long sip of his milkshake. "You  _did_. So when you say that you don't like me like that anymore, I can't quite believe you."

"I kissed you because I like someone else, and they got a letter too, and I need them to think I don't like them," he says, astounding himself with how easily he says. But the entire day has been so filled with nervousness that he just has to get it out, to explain to someone. And Wanda has a very open face, understanding. And the worst she can do is walk out, and it still wouldn't be the most awful thing that's happened to him today.

"Who was it?" she asks softly, and he looks up at her, and she's just gazing at him. Her eyes all concerned. Like she cares so much. "How many letters did you write? Were they all as beautiful as mine?"

"Um, I didn't know they were beautiful," he says, and she shakes her head gently, a smile on her shiny lips.

"Mine was," she says, crossing her legs neatly at the ankle and tilting her head at him, making the light shift over her hair. "Who else did you write them too?"

"Mandy Fournier," he says, and Wanda wrinkles her nose.

"Isn't she gay?" she asks, and she must see Vision blanch, because she immediately explains, "I hear things. And...I don't know, she just gives me a vibe."

"I don't know," Vision lies. Far be it from him to out someone, when he's holding the secret of his sexuality so close to his chest. "And, um...you, obviously. And Eve, a girl I went to camp with a few years ago. And Virginia, a girl I knew when I lived in England. And...um, that's it."

"No, you hesitated," she says, narrowing her eyes at him. He'd almost forgotten her uncanny ability to somehow recognise thoughts in tiny shifts of facial expression or hitches of breath. "Was there a fifth love letter? Five is a nice round number."

"Um, it...it was...I..." He's stirring his milkshake agitatedly, the cream swirling down through the glass, sprinkles tiny explosions of rainbow in the white, and Wanda's eyes are green like the jewels he compared them to in his letter, and she reaches out and steadies his wrist, his spoon  _chink-chink_ ing sharply against the side of his glass. "It was to Sam Wilson."

There's a long, suspended moment of silence, then she finally breathes, " _Oh_." Shifting on the couch, she asks, "So are you gay?"

"No...no, I..." The words catch in his throat like shard of glass, his lips parted though there's no words to leave them, and the tips of his ears are flaring hot with a blush when he finally forces out, "I like boys  _and_  girls."

"Me too," comes the breath of a reply, and he looks up at her, the surprise on her face, and he notices how perfectly glossy her black nail polish is when she reaches out a hand to him. He stares at her rings for a long time, picks out one shaped like a cat and another that is a crafted into a zigzag around her finger, until she says, "Hi. I'm Wanda, and I'm bisexual." She laughs in a breath and adds, "I've never said that out loud before."

"Oh, you...you're coming out to me?" he asks, and she nods, a small smile at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, then...hi. I'm Vision, and I'm...not straight. I think pansexual fits the best? I'm not sure."

"Thank you for telling me," she says, shaking his hand gently, and he smiles helplessly back, a nervous quiver of a smile. But a smile nonetheless. "So you...you kissed me because Sam got sent his letter?"

He nods, and quickly says, "I can't be outed at school. Not yet. I'm not ready. I know people...people  _think_  it, they think I'm gay, but I-"

"Why would they think that?" she asks, and he just shrugs.

"Because I'm quiet?" he suggests, and she scowls. "Because I don't play sports? Because I wear pink sometimes?"

" _Idiots_ ," she spits, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not ready to confirm what they believe," he says, nervously clutching his spoon, and she just gazes at him with something unreadable in her eyes. "I...it's too much. I thought that maybe I'd just wait, you know? Until college. Because then...then I can be someone else. I won't be this person anymore, I'll be new. Better. Not afraid."

There's a sudden lump in his throat, and Wanda is leaning across the table and touching his hand, concern in her eyes. "Are you okay?" she asks, and he shakes his head mutely. "Hey, it's okay. Finish your milkshake and I'll drive you home."

"You don't have to-"

"No, it's okay," she says, giving him a sweet smile. "I'll get a tea to take with me, since you gave me a reason to come here. I need to come more often so I can get extra sprinkles on my milkshake." She squeezes his hand before she gets to her feet and goes to the counter, and he finishes the last sip of his milkshake and goes to wait outside, looking up at the sky shot through with the gold of the sunset.

When she joins him, with a pretty metal flask that reflects pink and purple and blue in her hands, she leads him to black convertible, saying, "Ignore the mess in the back seat, I have to share this car with my brother." He climbs in, adjusting the passenger seat to compensate for his legs, and it smells like her, lemon and basil, and when she turns on the radio he likes the music playing. Soft and sort of mysterious, music for the twilight hours, watching the stars come out. Peaceful.

She doesn't try to engage him in conversation driving back, and when she pulls up outside his house he's about to simply say thank you and bid her goodbye when she says, "Hey...so, people saw us kissing. Four or five people asked me if I was dating you and just hadn't gotten around to telling them."

"I'm sorry," he says sadly, and she shakes her head.

"No, I...what I'm saying is, maybe we should let them think that," she says, and he just blinks at her. "Just for a little while. You don't want to be outed, so you won't be if everyone thinks you're dating me." A slight smirk pulls at one corner of her mouth, and she says, "And it would  _really_  annoy my brother."

"You want to pretend to be my girlfriend?" he asks, and she shrugs and nods. "Why?"

"Well...because I don't want you to be outed," she says. "It's not fair. We don't have to pretend for very long. It won't bother me."

"I...well, I..." He's lost for words, just gazing at her. She's so concerned, gazing at him, and her eyes are very green in her pale face, under the sweeps of dark eyeliner, and he's in that basement again, thirteen and terrified at his first real party, and those green eyes are blinking at him from under haphazard smears of gold glitter and she's leaning across the circle and planting a very quick, soft kiss on his lips. His first kiss, the memorable kiss. A kiss he thought of every night. Even now, sometimes, when it's late and he's lonely.

"You don't have to answer right away," she says. "Just...think about it. Have a good night, Vision."

He climbs out of the car wordlessly, and watches her drive away with his heart pounding.


	2. she could be very nice, have lovely eyes

**A/N:** Thank you for the response to the first chapter! I've extended the chapter count but honestly I'm not sure how long this might end up being, I'm finding myself getting carried away. Hope you all enjoy this installment :)

* * *

Dreams are strange, amorphous things, constantly changing. Virginia, eleven years old and bright-eyed and answering every question first. Eve, with her careless laugh, the warm weight of her hand in his. The swirling shine of the lights as Mantis spins under his arm. Sam smiling at him, offering him cookies. And then, between them all, Wanda. Her eyes veiled with concern, and her quiet earnestness as she offers him something she doesn't have to. Just because she wants to help.

He's distracted all through breakfast, even when Helen tentatively asks, "Vision? Sweetheart, is something bothering you?"

Blinking away the image of Wanda floating before his eyes, hearing  _Maybe we should let them think that_  over and over again, he shakes his head and says, "I'm fine. Just thinking about school."

"You work so hard," she says, smiling at him over her coffee mug. "My angel of a son." Glancing at the clock, she drains the rest of her coffee and stretches across the table to kiss the top of his head. "I gotta go, sweetheart. Don't work too hard and get burnt out, go have some fun."

"First game of the season is this weekend," he says, thinking wistfully of those fantasies of being Sam's boyfriend, being in the front row of the bleachers, cheering him on. "Tony is insisting we go."

"Good, you and Bruce need bringing out of your shells," Helen says, and just gives him a wicked smile when he turns an offended look on her. "You know it's true, sweetheart. I won't be home until late tonight, so you'll be cooking for one."

"I'll leave you leftovers," he says, and she blows him a kiss as she shrugs into her coat and leaves the house, and he finishes his smoothie and runs back upstairs to get his satchel just in time for Tony pulling up outside with an imperious honk of his horn. Glancing at the grey sky and slotting his umbrella under his arm, Vision wraps his scarf around his neck and walks out into the blustery day.

"The prodigal son returns!" Tony exclaims when he climbs into the car, twisting in the driver's seat to grin at him. "I called you like four times last night, why didn't you pick up?"

"I was getting ahead on homework, my phone was off all night," Vision says apologetically, wincing slightly at the lie. But it's really only an omission of the truth that he also spent a lot of the night in crisis over Wanda's offer, lying awake terrified that someone was hearing a whisper than he'd written a love letter to Sam, that he'll walk into school and  _everyone_  will know, he'll be chased out of the place by hatred.

"Nerd," Tony says fondly, and backs the car out of the driveway, and Vision tries to relax and not make himself more anxious on the drive to school. Not that Tony's obnoxiously loud music and slightly reckless driving is helping.

He's even chosen his clothes in an attempt to blend in a little more today. The brightest colour is the yellow in his scarf, but he's chosen black slacks and a dark blue sweater, simple and hopefully unlikely to catch too many eyes. On days like this, he wishes he hadn't gotten so tall, that he was just a little shorter and could blend in, and didn't have so much length and so many limbs that he's not quite used to, that make him clumsy. He just wants to fade into the background.

When they walk into the school, he's quite prepared to hear people shouting, to be chased out with pitchforks and torches for daring to develop a hopeless crush on the captain of the football team. But everything is the same. People just push past him, and no one has plastered disgusting graffiti over his locker. Everything is just the same as always.

Except not. He's never noticed that Mantis' locker is close to his, and she looks up and smiles at him, her bunches bobbing when she waves, and he waves shyly back. "Whoa," Tony says. "Are you friends with the bug girl now?"

"She's very sweet," Vision says reproachfully, and then his stomach lurches seeing Wanda. She's with Pietro and Crystal, walking a little apart from the couple with their clasped hands as Pietro whispers in Crystal's ear, and he's staring at her. Her hair braided and pulled over her right shoulder, the necklace she's wearing with what looks like a wedding ring hanging from a slender gold chain, and he's admiring her outfit, black shirt and skirt and boots with some colour added by the oversized red and black plaid shirt over the ensemble, and he's distracted by her pale skin flashing between the black of her fishnets.

"Maximoff's looking good today," Tony observes, and Vision starts and blushes. "I'm telling you, Vision, the girl likes you."

"Don't be silly," Vision replies automatically, and Tony rolls his eyes dramatically, slamming his locker door dramatically. "Hey, I won't be coming off-campus for lunch today. I want to go to the library and do some work, since I'll have Friday night off for the game."

"Whatever you want, dork," Tony says, and reaches up to ruffle Vision's hair before he walks away, and Vision huffs and does his best to smooth out the mess his friend has made.

He's distracted all through class, unable to stop thinking about Wanda's proposal. Anxiously bouncing his leg until he realises that half the class is glaring at him for the way it rattles everything on his desk and forcing himself to stop. Losing track of his place in the passage they're close-reading, and bolting out of there when the bell rings. He's barely even watching where he's going, just thinking about her. And the idea of pretending to date her. It sounds ridiculous, like no one would believe, and yet he's thinking about it. Because the thought of being outed, the thought of people looking at him in the corridor and seeing someone different, someone who doesn't have any protection of popularity, is  _terrifying_. So frightening that he feels paralysed with it, the thought of what people might do and say to him making his heart beat faster and his mouth go dry with fear.

Wanda has the protection of popularity. Her brother is a track and field star, his girlfriend one of the richest kids at the school who throws wild parties almost every weekend, her friends the people everyone gazes at in the cafeteria. She's pretty and kind and no one ever has a bad word to say about her. And she's afraid like him, closeted like him, scared that someone will see what she's hiding like him. The more he thinks about it, turning those thoughts over and over in his head, the more he thinks that they could help each other.

When he walks into the library, Mr. Coulson giving him a warmly welcoming smile, he almost turns on his heel and leaves when he sees Wanda bent over a computer, a pencil behind her ear and a frown creasing between her eyebrows. But he steels himself and walks past her to the back of the room and the tiny reading nook, looking out over the trees that are turning to yellow and orange with the autumn, the grey skies, and tucking himself down onto the beanbags, legs sprawling out in front of him, pulling his book from his satchel and turning to the last page he was at.

He's only read ten pages, having to re-read sentences and then entire paragraphs and pages as his thoughts wander, when a shadow falls across the page, and he looks up at Wanda, toying with her necklace. "Hi," she says softly, and gives him a small smile with her crimson-painted lips.

"Let's do this," he blurts out, and then blushes when she tilts her head at him. He climbs laboriously to his feet, looking down at her with her mascara slightly smudged under her eyes, making their bright green even more vivid, and says, "Let's pretend to date."

She smiles, and the next thing he knows she's leaning up onto her tiptoes and her arms are winding around his neck to pull him down into a kiss, her lips soft and slick with lipstick against his, and his hands instinctively go to her waist, the cotton of her plaid shirt very soft beneath his fingers, and he likes the way her mouth feels on his. Warm and sweet and  _nice_.

"Hey, kids, c'mon." He jerks back away from Wanda and blushes violently when he finds Mr. Coulson looking at them, shaking his head softly. "I remember what it's like to be young and in love, but try to touch the books and not each other, okay?"

"Sorry, sir," Vision rushes out, flustered, and the librarian just gives him a small smile and walks away to help a freshman trying to reach the top-shelf books. He looks down at Wanda, and she's just smiling, her lipstick smudged slightly and making the edges of her mouth look blurry, and she reaches a hand up and drags her thumb gently across the corner of his mouth and he's blushing worse than ever.

"I got lipstick on you," she says apologetically, smiling sweetly, and he's lost for words. "So how are we gonna do this?"

"Um, we...um..." he stammers out, feeling slightly like he was hit in the head by something heavy, utterly blindsided by that kiss. "Helen is working late tonight. You could come over to mine after school so we can talk somewhere private."

"Perfect," she says, her smile almost blinding now it's so bright, and his heart is pounding, thinking she's going to kiss him again. "I'll see you there." She walks away, and he just watches her, trying to calm the hollow disappointment in his chest that she didn't kiss him again.

If it was difficult to concentrate in his morning classes, it's utterly impossible to concentrate in the afternoon ones. He can barely even heard his teachers talking, the voices just a faint background buzz, only able to think of Wanda. The way she kissed him, her bright eyes, and her lipstick smudged because of  _him_. Heat keeps creeping up his neck remembering her lips on his, how  _good_  it felt to kiss her, her fingertips brushing against his shoulders where her arms were wrapped around him. He can't stop thinking about it, starting out of reliving it for the thousandth time when the bell rings to signal the end of the day.

Tony is waiting for him outside, tossing his keys from hand to hand, but Vision stumbles and nearly falls when he catches sight of Wanda getting into her car with Pietro and Crystal, and she meet his eyes. Gives him a secretive smile that makes her eyes shine, and Tony is shaking his head. "You need to learn to watch where you're walking," he says, and Vision just climbs into the car, blushing and trying to calm the way his head is spinning with thoughts of Wanda.

When he's been dropped off, he runs into the house in a flurry of panic, looking around with the new eyes of someone who has agreed to have Wanda Maximoff over. Trying to straighten everything out, hide the messes, plumping the cushions and hiding the blankets in a wicker basket. She won't want to go up to his room - will she? He can't have her there, can't have her looking at his pressed flower collection and his sketchbook and his two shelves devoted entirely to romance novels. She'll immediately retract her offer to pretend to date him if she sees who he really is.

There's a knock at the door before he can work himself into more of a panic, and he smooths his sweater down with a nervous flutter of his hands before he opens it and lets Wanda in, with all of her light. She's corrected her lipstick and wiped away the mascara smudges, and he's suddenly aback by how undeniably stunning she is, her braid unravelling and her eyes wide looking around. "Your house is lovely," she says, and she's looking at the photos Helen has mounted over the coat hooks, old shots from when she'd just adopted Vision. "Is this you?" He nods, mouth too dry to speak, and she grins. "You were so  _cute_!"

"Do you want something to drink?" he asks desperately, trying to keep the atmosphere from becoming tense and awkward. He hasn't been alone with a girl like this for a long time, and certainly not a girl like Wanda, who's so pretty and so confident, moving around his home like it's her own space. "I have water or lemonade or tea or coffee or hot chocolate or-"

"I'll take a tea - Earl Grey if you have it," she says, and he just nods vaguely, flicking the switch on the kettle and pulling down two mugs - yellow for him, red for her. She's still wandering down the hallway, looking at all the photos of him at various ages, a soft smile at the corner of her mouth. "How old were you when you were adopted?"

"Six," he says, looking up himself at the earliest photograph, the image of him with overlong hair and a gap-toothed grin, remembering that Helen never had to ask him to smile he was so happy to have a family at long last. "We lived in England then. Didn't move away until I was twelve."

"That explains why you still have the accent," she says, and he just shrugs. "I've always liked your accent. Makes you stand out a little."

"Oh...thank you," he says, blushing a little, and she grins. "I like yours too."

They don't speak again while he finishes making her a cup of tea and himself a hot chocolate - though he does hold out on the marshmallows, wanting to look a little more sophisticated in front of her - and pulls the packet of lemon cookies from the cupboard, setting them out carefully out on a plate and setting them up at the small table by the kitchen window, smoothing the checked tablecloth down. "You're a good host," she says, tucking her skirt beneath her thighs as she sits down, and he smiles shyly. "So...how are we going to do this?"

"I thought you'd know," he says, and she shakes her head, her rings flashing in the light when she reaches for a cookie, breaking it neatly into pieces. "Haven't you dated anyone before?"

"No, I told you, Pietro is weird about me dating," she says, and he loses himself staring at her lips for a moment, the pale crumbs sticking to the red of her lipstick. "He tries to scare off boys before I can even start properly flirting with them, and...well, he doesn't know I'm bi, and I'm not going to start dating a girl while I'm still closeted."

"Why is he weird about you dating?" he asks, and she shrugs, fingers curved around her mug. "He has a girlfriend, he shouldn't begrudge you being in a relationship too!"

"He just seems to think no one could ever be good enough for his baby sister," she says, and the curl of her lip suggests to him that she doesn't like that nickname. "I'm only twelve minutes younger than him!"

"Is he going to be...mean?" he asks, and she looks up at him. "About us pretending to date?"

"He'll probably resent you a little," she says, quite easily, and he blanches. "Oh, but it's okay, Vision! I can deal with my brother, he'll just have to accept that I'm seeing someone. He's been with Crystal since we were fifteen, it's my turn now."

"I think if I had siblings I'd be very protective of them like your brother is of you," he says, and she just shakes her head. "So, we're pretending to be each other's first relationship?"

"I guess so," she says, giving him a small smile. "What do you want to agree this is gonna be?"

"I...um...I think that we shouldn't kiss anymore," he says, and her eyes go wide. "Because I...I don't want all my firsts to be fake. If I'm...um, making out with someone, I want it to be real."

"What about cheek kisses?" she asks, and he can feel his cheeks flushing at the thought. "People won't believe we're dating if I can't touch you. You've seen what Pietro and Crystal are like."

Vividly remembering the day he had to walk past the couple making out against her locker to get to his, Vision nods, blushing. "Um...cheek kisses are okay. We can hold hands. And um...you can put your hand in my back pocket." She tilts her head at him and he stammers out, "You know, l-like in the old movies. It's...it's a couple's thing."

"Hand in back pocket," she muses, and then smiles. "Noted." She opens her bag and pulls out a notebook, the cover a swirl of stars, and clicking a pen into life. "Okay, no kisses on lips, but cheeks kisses are okay. Hand-holding is okay. I can put my hand in your back pocket." She finishes writing and smiles at him. "Anything else?"

"What about pet names?" he asks. "Your brother always calls Crystal that...um, that word. I think it's Sokovian?"

" _Medena_ ," she says, and he nods, enjoying the sharp angles of her accent. "It's like a combination of honey and sweetheart." She gives him a considering look and says, "Can I call you Vizh?"

He blinks at her for a moment, and say, "Like...like short for Vision?"

"I know it's already a nickname," she says, shifting in her seat, "but your girlfriend should have her own version." Tapping her pen against the paper, she continues, "Or babe? Just babe, that's simple. Let me try and think of something in Sokovian, then Pietro will know we're serious." Her gaze drifts over him, and he tries very hard not to blush too violently under her scrutiny.

She says something in Sokovian, something he can't understand, but he likes the shape of the words in her voice. The way her eyes soften when she says it, and the way it makes him blush. "What does that mean?" he asks, and her eyes glint with mischief.

"It's no fun if you know," she says, and gives him another look. "So, do those three nicknames work for you? And what do you wanna call me?"

"They work," he says, and she smiles and scribbles the first two names onto the contract, still keeping the Sokovian to herself. "Can...could I call you darling?"

"I like that," she says softly, and her eyes are bright and his heartbeat is jumping and stuttering in his chest. "It's kinda old-fashioned and sweet." She writes it down, and then says, "You should come to parties with me. There'll be one on Friday night after the game, and a lot more. Pietro always gets annoyed when people flirt with me - if my boyfriend is there, I get to flirt without him glaring at me."

"I don't really go to parties," he says apologetically, and she gives him a soft sympathetic look. "I wouldn't even know what to wear."

"I'll help you," she says, and scribbles  _parties_  down on the paper. "And you can come to the diner with me and my friends before it."

"As you wish," he says, and she gives him a blank look. " _Princess Bride_? It's the iconic line?"

"I've never seen it," she says, and he gapes, reaching for the paper and pen and writing it down. "So you're making me watch it?" He nods, smiling slightly, and she says, "Okay, then I'm making you watch my favourite horror movies."

"Oh no, no, I can't watch horror," he says. "The last time I watched a horror movie it made me jump so badly I spilled my drink on Tony."

"They're old, campy horror movies, just jump scares that I can warn you about," she says, and bats her eyelashes at him. "Please?"

"Okay," he relents, and she smiles and adds it to the list. "And, um...maybe you could play with my hair?" He blushes, and mumbles, "I'd like it."

"I'll add it in," she says, and he tries to calm the way he's blushing and smile at her. "I'm a cuddler, by the way. You don't mind, do you? PDA is just gonna be the easiest way to convince people we're actually dating."

He imagines sitting in the cafeteria at the popular table, Wanda curled into his side, maybe her hand under his shirt like he sees Crystal doing with Pietro, and has to swallow before he says, "That's fine."

She writes down  _PDA_  and then looks up. "And we can't tell anyone it's fake. Not even your mother or my brother. Everyone has to believe this is real."

"Of course," he says, and she writers it down, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.

She looks up suddenly, inspiration sparking bright in her eyes, "You should come on the ski trip with me!"

He just blinks at her in shock. The ski trip is notorious for being a weekend of debauchery between the popular kids under the eyes of hapless chaperones, tales of lost virginities and wild parties around the hot tub circulating for weeks afterwards. It also isn't for another three months. "You really think we'll still be doing this by then?" he asks, and she shrugs.

"Let's make it stick until either of us is ready to come out," she says. "Or we find someone we want to date for real. And if we're still together by the time the ski trip comes around, then you can come. Couples always go together."

"Okay," he says after a long pause. Imagining the snow falling, white in her dark hair, her hand in his, the shimmer of the starlight over the hills, the crackling fire and curling up together beneath a blanket. A romantic daydream.

"Great," she says, and writes  _SKI TRIP_  at the bottom of the sheet before she signs her name. Her handwriting is open, her loops bigger than his, friendly and warm. Next to hers, his signature looks small and cramped, reserved. She grins at him and says, "Pleasure doing business with you, Vizh."

"When do we start?" he asks, and she smiles, finishing her cup of tea and standing up, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs and looping her bright red scarf back around her neck.

"Tomorrow," she says, and leans down to kiss his cheek before she walks out of the door. Leaving him with an imprint of her lipstick on his skin and a pounding heart.

* * *

Standing over his bed, Vision stares at the four outfits he has laid out. They're all regularly worn in his rotation, but he's just not sure what to wear. How to look the part of Wanda Maximoff's boyfriend. Should he try to match the way she dresses? He doesn't own any red, or anything plaid, or a leather jacket like the one he sees her wear at least once a week. The closet he could get is pink, and he's not sure how that will compare with her way of dressing.

He winds up choosing his favourite yellow sweater, soft and sweet-smelling, staring at himself in the mirror, wondering what Wanda will think of it. If he looks worthy to be her boyfriend as he combs his hair carefully, checks there are no smears on his shoes before he laces them and pulls his satchel over his shoulder. He doesn't think he looks like the type of person Wanda would date - he could picture them dressing closer to Wanda, in red and black and leather. But maybe she'll still think he looks passable.

He goes to get himself another glass of orange juice, hands shaking with nerves, twitching his glasses up his nose while he waits for Tony's car in the driveway. He's still thinking about Wanda at his kitchen table, smiling at him through the steam swirling upwards from her tea, and all the promises they've made. She's his fake girlfriend now, and he's her fake boyfriend. They're about to perform a relationship to the entire school.

"Looking good, big guy," Tony says cheerfully as Vision climbs into the car, grinning at him in the rearview mirror. "What's the occasion?"

"Nothing," Vision says, perhaps a little too hastily, because Tony arches a suspicious eyebrow. "Can we just go? I have AP Computer Science first."

Tony narrows his eyes but still pulls out of the driveway, and Vision watches the scenery flashing by, mind spinning. Wanda said they'd start pretending today, but maybe she didn't mean it as strongly as he imagined she did. Maybe she'll be easing into it, not immediately illustrating to the whole school that she's dating him. Today could be a warm up lap, before they start properly pretending. Maybe just a few secretive smiles.

But when he gets into school, going to his locker to grab his books, Wanda is immediately at his side, smiling up at him looking for all the world like a woman utterly besotted. Her hair is loose over her shoulders, gold earrings tangling in the dark strands, and he doesn't have time to notice the rest of her outfit before she's bouncing onto her tiptoes and kissing his cheek. "Morning babe," she says sweetly, pressing the twisted top of a bag into his hand. "We went to the bakery for breakfast, I bought you a chocolate-cherry muffin. Chocolate's your favourite, right?"

"Right," he says, flustered and feeling himself blushing, and she's just smiling up at him. "I...I really like your earrings."

"Oh, thank you, Vizh," she says, and slides her hand down his back to balance when she reaches up to kiss his cheek again, her thumb rubbing the stain away from his cheekbone immediately afterwards, while his mouth goes dry at the way her fingertips are brushing against his belt. "I love you in yellow, babe. You wanna have lunch on or off campus today?"

"On," he says, incapable of more than one word answers. "I'll, um...I'll meet you after class?"

"Sure, babe," she says, and he misses the feeling of her hands when she moves away, giving him one last smile over her shoulder before she walks away, the skirt of her black dress swinging with the sway of her hips.

"Oh. My. God." Pulled out of watching her walk away, catching up with a group of her friends, Vision turns to find Tony gaping at him, eyes wide and gaze darting between him and Wanda until she rounds a corner and is gone from their sight. "You...you're...she's  _dating_  you?!"

"Is that so unbelievable?" Vision asks, and Tony just shakes his head.

"Oh my God, I just...who  _asked_?!" he exclaims, leaning against the nearest stack of lockers. "I knew she liked you, I could tell."

"She asked me," Vision says, hoping that Wanda isn't telling a conflicting story to anyone. They should've figured out their entire story before they began this charade. "It just...sort of...happened."

"Well holy shit," Tony says. "You lucky bastard. No wonder you look good today when you're dating  _that_."

"Please don't objectify my girlfriend," Vision says softly, and the feel of the words  _my girlfriend_  is so comforting, the warm way his lips shape them. "It's early days, Tony. Don't get too excited."

"But you're dating  _Wanda Maximoff_!" Tony shouts, and every head in the corridor turns towards them. At least it's one way of ensuring the whole school believes them to be dating. "So does this mean we can sit at the popular table at lunch?"

"It means  _I_  can," Vision says, slamming his locker door shut. "You'll have to wait and see, Tony." Smiling slightly over the offended look Tony is giving him, he walks away and into class, trying not to be too conscious of the prickling of a hundred pairs of eyes on him. All the whispers about how Wanda Maximoff finally has a boyfriend and it's that shy kid who hides in the library and reads romance novels.

When the bell rings for lunch, he's expecting to have to make the walk to the cafeteria alone. But when he swings the door open Wanda is waiting for him, untangling her hair from her earrings and taking his hand as easily as breathing. "I had a free, and I knew you had History," she says, pulling him along beside her, swinging their joined hands. "We've gotta go snag our table before Pietro and Crystal decide to make out over it."

"That happens?" he asks, and she turns her head to grin at him.

"Just once," she says. "I took the car keys while he was distracted and took myself to that café you like for lunch." She laughs and tugs on his hand. "C'mon, I wanna show my boyfriend off."

"Fake boyfriend," he corrects quietly, and she just shrugs.

"They don't know that," she says, and he falls into step beside her walking into the cafeteria, astounded by the skilful way she weaves through crowds of people to her table, Natasha Romanoff already sitting down with a salad and flickering her eyes up to look at Vision.

"You finally got yourself a boy toy, Wanda?" she asks, and Vision just tries to sit down naturally, not to blush when Wanda curls herself into his side, her hand curved over his thigh and her fingertips brushing the inside seam of his slacks. Her  _hand_  on his  _thigh_ , and so casually. He finds himself staring at her hands, her skin pale against the dark material, her rings gleaming in the cafeteria lighting, his mouth dry. It's such an innocent touch, but she's doing it so easily, simply resting her hand there, and he's just amazed by it. This little touch that couples do, and he wonders how on earth anyone thinks straight with a hand on their thigh. How they keep their thoughts from straying.

"Do you know Nat, Vision?" she asks with a smile, like her hand isn't resting on his thigh and making his heart pound. "Nat, you know Vision, right?"

"Yeah, I have AP Physics with your friend Bruce," Natasha says, and Vision nods wordlessly, very aware of the slight ridges of Wanda's rings against his thigh. "How did you two finally get together?"

Before he can question why she's phrasing it as 'finally', Wanda is tucking her head onto his shoulder and dreamily saying, "I finally asked him out a few weeks ago, right, babe? Only took two dates for me to know I want him to be my boyfriend and not just some guy I get coffee with."

"How did Pietro take the news?" Natasha asks, arching her eyebrow, and Wanda just grimaces. "So you haven't told him yet?"

"Not exactly," Wanda says, and Vision tenses up when he sees Pietro walking towards the table, Crystal's arm linked through his, the gilded, golden couple.

"What's  _he_  doing at our table?" Pietro asks thinly, setting his tray down and sitting down for Crystal to practically curl into his lap, her legs slung over his.

"Pietro, me and Vision are dating now and you are  _going_  to be nice to him," Wanda says insistently, moving protectively closer to Vision, the way her side is sealed against his making him flush.

" _Dating_?!" Pietro exclaims, his gaze flickering between Vision's face and Wanda's. "The hell do you mean?!"

"I mean he's my boyfriend and he's going to sit with us at lunch and come to the game with us on Friday," Wanda says firmly, and lifts her head to kiss Vision's cheek softly.

"Please don't say you're talking about the game over here too," comes a voice Vision only vaguely recognises, and a tray is clattered down next to him as Nebula sits down with a dull thud, scowling down at the table. "They will not shut up about it at the jock table. And Gamora is out on work experience so I don't have  _anyone_  to roll eyes with."

"That sucks, Nebs," Wanda says, tossing the new addition to the table one of her cookies. "Do you know Vision?"

"You're friends with Mantis, right?" Nebula asks, and Vision nods, seeing Wanda and Natasha exchanging a smirk and wondering what it means. "Who does she sit with?"

"The bug girl?" Pietro asks, and Nebula visibly bristles. "She usually goes outside to eat. Gotta be one with nature. Weirdo."

"Maybe you should be more careful about who  _you_  call a weirdo, brother dearest," Wanda says sharply, and Natasha snorts into her coffee while Pietro looks thunderous.

"She's got you there, baby," Crystal says, giving her boyfriend a sugar-sweet smile, and Vision smiles slightly watching her exchange a wicked smile with Wanda.

Though he stays relatively quiet while the conversation flows around him, all about the latest gossip and the party someone named Thor is hosting after the game and the Halloween party Crystal is planning because her parents are out of town the weekend before the day itself, Vision's attention is held rapt by this glimpse into the lives of the most popular people in school. They aren't that different from him, Tony and Bruce, the same teasing around the table - mostly of Pietro, who glowers at his plate. He can't understand why he's always been so afraid to approach any of them, why they seem so untouchable. Wanda is just the same now as she was when she kissed him in a basement when they were thirteen, just a little taller and better-dressed. She's not scary.

"Afternoon, beautiful people," comes a voice he knows, and he automatically tenses, ducking his head to hide the instant blush spilling over his cheeks. Sam is climbing in to sit beside Natasha, his special grin that makes everyone it's directed at feel like the only person in the world lighting up the table, putting an arm around the redhead even as she rolls her eyes. "Hope you're all discussing the game!"

"Haven't you heard enough about it over at the meathead table, Wilson?" Nebula asks, and Sam clutches a melodramatic heart to his chest.

"You cut me deep, Nebs," he says, and she rolls her eyes. "We're actually a very intelligent group of charming young men."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Nebula says, shaking her head at Sam. "And don't call me Nebs."

"Maximoff over here gets to call you Nebs all the time!" Sam protests, and Wanda smirks, even as she curls further into Vision's side and starts tracing her hand over the buttons of his shirt through his sweater, and he has to suppress a shiver.

"She's a pretty girl, only pretty girls get the privilege of calling me Nebs," Nebula says haughtily.

"I'm pretty!" Sam exclaims, and Natasha laughs, making him glare dramatically at her. "Nat, tell Nebs I'm pretty!"

"Last time I checked you weren't a girl, Wilson," Natasha says, and elbows him away from her, leaving him pouting - in a stupidly adorable way - and rubbing his chest where the impact was.

"You wound me, Tasha," he says, while Natasha stares at him with a smirk curling the corner of her mouth. "You wound me deep. Whatever happened to our love?"

"What love?" Natasha asks sweetly, and Sam gapes at her. "Do you need something from us, Wilson?"

"Just came to chat to my bestest buddies," Sam says, and everyone around the table rolls their eyes. "And say hi to the new guy. Hi new guy!" He extends his hand over the table, and Vision tries very hard not to visibly tremble when he goes to shake it. "You're Vision, right? How'd you end up here?"

"He's my boyfriend," Wanda says, squeezing Vision's thigh and making him start and blush even darker.

"Well slap my ass, our little girl only went and got herself a boyfriend!" Sam exclaims, and she narrows her eyes at him.

"I'm  _older_  than you."

"Semantics, darling, all semantics," Sam says with an airy wave of his hand, then stands up. "I ought to leave you all to your bliss. Duty calls. And I know you all hate to see me leave but  _love_  to watch me go."

"You keep me sure of my lesbianism, Wilson, you really do," Nebula deadpans, and Sam just laughs that charming laugh that makes Vision's heart skip.

"Glad to be of service, Nebs," he says, and winks at Wanda before he walks away. Leaving Vision flustered and shaking, and Wanda curling further into his side and setting her head neatly on his shoulder, a reassuring presence.

People are whispering about him all through afternoon classes, after Wanda walked him from the cafeteria to class and kissed his cheek at the door with a smile, the mark of her lipstick still on his skin. At least everyone knows about them quickly, that's what he supposes. It's easier than having to constantly remind the entire school that they're dating. And so far no one seems the slightest bit suspicious. Everyone believes them.

And Wanda is not letting that belief sleep, waiting by his locker with the keys to her convertible dangling temptingly from her hand. "Pietro has training and Crystal is gonna drive him home," she says, smiling up at him while he stacks his books away. "You want a lift home, babe? We can hang out for a while."

She smirks over the words, and Tony chokes on air at his locker a few paces down, and Vision blushes. "That would be nice, yes," he says, and Wanda grins, and slips her hand into his back pocket while they walk down the corridor, paces matching. He can feel her fingers curved against his skin, the ridges of her rings, and he's utterly lost for words every second her hand is in his pocket, his mouth dry and the back of his neck hot. He misses it the second she pulls her hand away from him, opening the car door for him with a sweet smile.

With the roof down, the breeze is whipping through his hair, his scarf flying in the wind, and Wanda has her music turned up, and he feels like this is how a teenager is  _supposed_  to feel. Exciting, freeing, exhilarating. Maybe he shouldn't be shutting himself in his room every night with embroidery and his flower presser and his stacks of books. Maybe, even when the pretending is over, Wanda will still want to be his friend. He doesn't feel so scared around her.

She pulls into the driveway and puts the roof up before she follows him inside, unzipping her boots and losing a few inches of height, her head at the same level as his chest. "Your house really feels like a home," she says, looking around at the photographs and the slow cooker that's been making dinner all day.

"I'm glad you like it," he says, and she smiles. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

"That'd be great," she says, walking through the kitchen to the front room and the couch, crossing her legs up beneath her while she watches him. "Tell me about the other people who got letters."

"You know Sam and Mantis," he points out, and she just shakes her head, her eyes bright.

"What about the other two letters?" she asks, and he ducks his head, blushing. "Come  _on_ , Vizh! I wanna know about the love stories! And how did you end up with crushes on Mantis and Sam?"

"You really want to know?" he asks, and she nods eagerly. He makes her cup of tea and pours himself a glass of water, pulling a packet of mango out of the fridge and carrying it all through to her, folding himself onto the opposite end of the couch to her. "Fine. The first letter I wrote was to my friend Virginia, back when I lived in England. We were ten."

_I remember the day it all started. We were ten years old, at the park after school with Sarah and Jake and Robert and Aisling. We pooled all our money at the corner shop for drinks and snacks and Mrs Moreno let us have an extra bag of crisps and I was sitting watching everyone's bags while you were daring each other to climb to the top of everything. Jake told me I was a baby for not wanting to climb too so I did it. But I slipped and fell and ended up with grazed knees and elbows and it really hurt._

_You were the one who jumped down and came to help. I remember your father was a nurse so you always had a little first-aid kit with you and you managed to wipe off the blood and you gave me a plaster. It had little yellow polka dots on it because you remembered yellow is my favourite colour. And then you smiled and you asked if I'd hit my head and you let me have the last piece of chocolate._

_It was right then. That's when I knew that I loved you, Virginia, all of you. From all your curly hair to the tips of your shoes, I love you. Maybe if I wasn't moving away across the ocean, we could be something more. Maybe in ten years we'd look back on that day in the park and we'd remember how that little plaster started it all. But I'm leaving, and we'll never know if maybe we might have been something more._

_I like that you answer all the questions in class first and you never get any of them wrong. I like that you care about everyone and everything. I like everything about you. Remember that time I was at your house and your dad was showing us how to make pizza dough? He called you 'Gin', and I liked that. I loved the sound of it, and the way you smiled when he said it. I thought that maybe one day I would get to call you Gin too, but I guess not. I bet your boyfriend will call you Gin one day. He'll be really lucky. And you'll love him and you won't know that, once upon a time, I loved you._

_I'm just going to say it while I can: goodbye, Gin. I love you._

_P.S. You said that your dad didn't want you to cut your hair because it would get out of control. I think you should. I think it would suit you._

"What was she like?" Wanda asks, and when he looks at her the shine in her eyes he realises she really is curious. She wants to know about him, his life, his past,  _everything_.

"She was my best friend," he says, and Wanda's face softens. "So smart, and so bright and bubbly. You remind me of her, actually. A little."

"So you only liked me because I remind you of your first crush?" she asks, and his face falls, embarrassment swelling in his chest. "Oh, no, Vizh, I'm kidding! She sounds really sweet, I'm happy to be compared to her!" She adjusts herself, her feet brushing against his ankles, and asks, "Why did nothing ever happen?"

"I moved away before I got brave enough to tell her how I felt," he says with a shrug, and she gives him a sympathetic look. "I almost asked her to my last school dance, but I sprained my ankle the week before and couldn't go. We just...we were close. I have a single mother and she had a single father, and we bonded over it. But we lost touch when Helen and I moved here."

"More tragic than  _Romeo and Juliet_ ," Wanda teases, and he gives her a small smile. "So who was next?"

"Then you," he says, and she grins. "I, um...it was because of that party. The one where we played Spin the Bottle."

"The time it was Pietro's idea to play so he could have an excuse to kiss Crystal?" Wanda asks, and he nods. "Then he spun Bruce and he was so mad he walked out of the room." She tilts her head at him and says, "We were idiots trying to be cool, but it was a nice kiss. For us being thirteen and all."

"Oh, I...thank you?" She giggles, and he breathes easier, pretty sure it was a compliment. "After you,"  _and before_  he thinks privately to himself, remembering the first day of high school when he realised one crush had not been enough to get him over Wanda, "it was this girl I met at summer camp when I was fourteen. Her name was Eve, she was pretty and blonde and confident and she held my hand when I got nervous jumping into the lake on the first day."

"You don't like water?" Wanda asks, and he bites at his lip, giving a small shake of his head.

"Um, it's more than I don't really like jumping into deep water," he says, and she tilts her head at him. "And I'm not the strongest swimmer...heart problems when I was little that meant I couldn't get lessons like the other kids. Eve held my hand and made sure I came up at the same time as her."

"What happened with her?" Wanda asks, and he looks down, the memory still squeezing sad around his heart.

"She kissed another boy at the campfire on the last night," he says softly, remembering exactly how it felt to watch it happen. The horrible clenching in his chest, and burying his head in his pillow while the other boys snored around him to hide his tears.

"Bitch," Wanda spits sharply, and he looks up at her in shock. "I would've kissed you." Her eyes soften and she calls him that nickname in Sokovian again, and he fights not to blush. "So then it was Mantis, right?"

"Sophomore homecoming," he says. "We danced together most of the night and waited for our rides home together. I just thought she was sweet." He swallows thickly and says, "Then around Halloween last year I was walking past football practice and their ball hit me in the head. Sam came over to help me up and apologise and I just realised that my fascination with him was decidedly romantic. He was obviously with Sharon at the time. That's it."

"It's sweet that you remember so many details about your crushes," Wanda says, nudging him with her foot. "Kinda makes me wish I'd written love letters. I was too scared to write them in case Pietro found them and he knew I wasn't straight. Especially since I started out thinking I was just gay because I'd had a crush on Natasha pretty much since the day I met her."

"What made you realise you were attracted to men too?" he asks.

"You," she says simply, and he blinks at her in surprise. "At that party. You were sitting next to Natasha, and I was hoping and hoping the bottle would stop on her, but it hit you instead. Then I kissed you and I had to admit that I like it more than I thought a lesbian would." She smiles at him over the rim of her mug. "Thank you for that, by the way."

"Oh...you're welcome," he says, and she giggles, leaning across to grab a piece of mango from the packet in his lap. He just looks at her. Wanda Maximoff is in his house, on his couch, wriggling her socked feet, and she's smiling at him. A few years ago, he would've done anything to have this daydream realised. Now it is, he's feeling the same butterflies as he did at thirteen, when the prettiest girl in the room - the  _school_  - was smiling across the circle at him and giving him a very quick kiss that still made his eyes fall closed in bliss.

"C'mere," she says suddenly, sliding across the couch and nestling her head against his shoulder, combing her hair back behind her ear and adding, "Smile." He does as she says, trying to find eye contact with the camera on her phone, and she pulls it back down to look at the product, grinning. "Perfect on the first try, you were  _made_  for selfies. What's your Instagram handle so I can tag you?"

"I don't have Instagram," he says, and she turns her head in a sharp jerk to stare at him. "I just...I don't think anyone would be interested."

"You'd get followers on your style alone, Vizh," she says, and holds out her hand. "Let's make you one right now. I'll get you set up."

And she does it thoroughly, scrolling through his pictures until she finds the right ones, forcing him to take another photo to be his first post, all the while chattering on about hashtags and algorithms and everything he doesn't entirely understand. But he likes the way her face lights up while she's talking, how alive with excitement she looks.

**scarletsokovia started following you**

**scarletsokovia:** _sunce moje_   **@** **victorshade**

"See, it'll be useful for keeping up the pretense," she says when she finally hands his phone back, having apparently followed everyone in their year for him. His feed is flooded with Peter Quill's videos of incidents at football practice and Crystal's enormous family home and Mantis' nature photography.

"What does that mean?" he asks, and she just smiles at him.

"My sun," she says, and he ducks his head bashfully, colour spilling across his cheekbones. "It works especially well since you're wearing yellow." She smooths her hand through his hair and murmurs, "My sunshine," and he can't help how vividly he blushes.

He starts away from Wanda at the sound of an engine outside, and doesn't have a chance to correct himself before Helen opens the door, saying, "Hi sweetheart, how was your day?" in the typical fashion before she notices Wanda and pauses halfway through hanging up her bag. "Is that Wanda Maximoff?"

"Hi, Doctor Cho," Wanda says sweetly, and Helen  _beams_.

"Look at you, I haven't seen you in so long!" she exclaims, and Wanda is smiling, charming and sweet and everything Vision imagines a mother would want her son to bring home. "You look so much older!"

"It's the eyeliner," Wanda says with a shrug. "How are you, Doctor Cho?"

"Oh please, sweetie, call me Helen," she says, and looks between Wanda and Vision, realisation creeping into her face. "What are you doing over here, Wanda? Are you and Vision friends now?"

"Oh, I...I guess I'm over here hanging out with my boyfriend," Wanda says, and Helen's eyes light up.

"You two are  _dating_?!" she exclaims, and Vision manages to nod wordlessly, overwhelmed by the way Wanda quite easily curls into his side, linking their hands together and squeezing gently. "Oh my  _goodness_ , this is so exciting! How did it happen? Tell me everything!"

"Well..." Wanda trails away, looking at Vision, and he just nods, giving her permission to tell the story. "I've kinda liked him for a long time. And I decided that senior year was probably the time to get off my ass and tell him how I felt. So I asked him out for coffee on the first day back and we went out a few times before we made it official, right, babe?"

"You liked me for a while?" he asks incredulously, then remembers that this is all just a story. But Wanda smiles at him and nods and leans over to kiss his cheek, and it makes his heartbeat pick up speed, a stuttering metronome.

"Why didn't you tell me you were going on dates, sweetheart?" Helen asks, and there's betrayal in her face that makes Vision feel inexplicably guilty.

"I, um...we wanted to just enjoy it first," he says, and then Helen melts, understanding in her eyes. "We just wanted time."

"This is so exciting!" she exclaims again, and Vision can't help smiling at her joy, his arm wrapping around Wanda's waist when she snuggles further into his side. "I knew you'd find someone who truly sees how special you are, sweetheart, I always did. Are you staying for dinner, Wanda?"

"No, no, I should get home," she says, squeezing Vision's hand again and making his stomach swoop. "I just came over for some extra time." She turns to Vision, meeting his eyes, and asks, "Are you gonna come for dinner with us on Friday, Vizh?"

"I...I don't know," he says, trying to ignore Helen mouthing  _say yes!_  at him and not be embarrassed by her. "I promised Tony and Bruce we'd go for dinner."

"Bring them!" Wanda says, like it's not any kind of big deal. "The more the merrier! They can come to Thor's party after too if they want. Is that okay with you, Doctor Cho? I can drive Vision home after!"

"Of course it's okay," Helen says, smiling between them.

"Great!" With a tug on his hand, Wanda is smiling at Vision, and asks, "So you'll come to dinner with us after school?"

Sure that he's imagining the hint of hopefulness in her voice, because surely this is just another way to extend the charade, to make everyone believe that they're dating, he says, "Yes, I'll come."

"Great!" she says, and leans over to kiss his cheek. "Text me your outfit options, babe. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye," he says, and then steels himself and adds, "darling." Just to see Wanda smile and be rewarded with another kiss to his cheek, another smudge of red lipstick, before she leaves with a cheerful wave at Helen. And he's left to answer Helen's persistent questions, and daydream about the weight of Wanda's hand in his back pocket. Looking at her text over and over again, clutching his phone to his chest with a happy sigh.

**From: Wanda**

You did great today, fake boyfriend. It's an honour to pretend to date you xx

* * *

"Babe!" Peeling away from Bruce and Tony, Vision crosses the parking lot to Wanda, with her hair in a ponytail and dressed in the dark red of the school's colours, smiling up at him. "How are you getting to the diner?"

"Oh, Tony's driving," he says, and he doesn't  _think_  he's imagining the way Wanda's face falls. "But his parents are having an industry party tonight so he has to go home straight after."

"Great, I'll get us to the party," she says, and kisses his cheek. "Come get us as soon as you get to the diner. Want me to order you a chocolate shake?"

"That'd be nice," he says, ducking his head bashfully, and she grins before she lets him go back to Tony and Bruce, Tony narrowing his eyes as they all climb into his car.

"So," he says as soon as the doors are shut and they're pulling out of the parking lot, "Maximoff. Spill, Vision. Tell us everything. When, where, how far."

" _Tony_ ," Bruce sighs in fond exasperation, and Vision just blushes. They've held hands, Wanda has curled into his side at the lunch table, and she's kissed his cheek countless times, but she hasn't had her hand in his back pocket again since that first day. He's thought about it a lot, lying in bed alone waiting for sleep, and his mind has twined Wanda through his dreams, reminding him of the three kisses they've shared. Making him imagine more, imagine her hands warm on his skin, and leaving him waking up flustered.

"She's my girlfriend," Vision says. "I don't know what else you want to know. She asked me out the first day back, and after we went for coffee a few times we decided to officially be boyfriend and girlfriend. There's not much else to it, Tony."

"God, you're boring," Tony says. "I can't believe you're dating the hottest girl in the entire year and you still don't have any interesting story about how it happened. I bet all you two do behind closed door is kiss like you're still thirteen year olds playing Spin the Bottle."

"Even if that  _was_  all we did, it's none of your business," Vision says thinly.

"Aw, come on, big guy, I'm just asking!" Tony says. "I'm invested in your relationship. You can tell me you didn't all you want, but I  _know_  you had a long-running crush on her. And she totally liked you before this, she gave you all these ridiculous soulful looks like Bruce gives Natasha."

" _Hey_." Tony turns his attention to annoying Bruce yet again about his refusal to do anything about his feelings for Natasha, and Vision breathes easier, smoothing his cardigan down over and over again. It's his favourite, the one he made himself, navy with a dark red stripe that he thinks adds a little school spirit for going to the game.

The diner is busy with loud voices and bright laughter, and Vision catches sight of Wanda quickly, with an arm around Natasha, and something sharp and hot spikes in his chest seeing them so close. Remembering that Wanda had a crush on Natasha years ago that made her believe she was attracted to women exclusively. He tries to shake it off, though, knowing how irrational he's being. Wanda isn't  _actually_  his girlfriend. She can be attracted to and touch whoever she wants.

But he thrills when he sees her light up at the sight of him, and she beckons him over and takes her arm away from Natasha to touch him, a hand slipped into his back pocket to make his heart skip. "Your shake, babe," she says, sliding a tall glass topped in a swirl of whipped cream towards him, and he smiles and gathers all his courage to peck her on the cheek. When he pulls away, she's looking up at him with shiny eyes and a bright smile, and nestling into his side.

"You coming to the party after the game, Vision?" Natasha asks, tucking her hair behind her ears and stretching across the table for a basket of onion rings.

"Of course he is, he's my date," Wanda says with a pleased little smile, twining her fingers through Vision's. "I promise it'll be fun, Vizh. When's your curfew?"

"Midnight," he says automatically, then catches sight of Pietro's mouth thinning scornfully. "Helen said I could stay out until one though. If I want to. Because it's a Friday."

"Don't worry, babe, I'm pretty tired," she says soothingly. "I'll probably want to head home by midnight. If you end up wanting to stay out later we can always come back here, they're open until three on Fridays."

Milkshake clutched to his chest, Vision just lets the conversation happen around him. Nebula actually waves to him when she arrives, something he considers quite the honour, and he manages to forget the consistent way Pietro is glaring at him and enjoy himself. People like Natasha, like Nebula, like Carol Danvers - they're nowhere near as terrifying when he gets to know them. When he sees Bruce deep in earnest conversation with Natasha, and Tony chattering away quite cheerfully with Nebula, he smiles and pulls Wanda tighter into his side, murmuring, "Thank you for including us."

"Any time," she breathes in reply, and smiles up into his eyes. Lifting a tentative hand, he tucks her hair back behind her ear and untangles her earring, and something drives him to kiss her forehead. Very softly. And the way she looks up at him afterwards makes him want to do it every day.

Even when they're done at the diner, the last scraps of food cleared from the plates, Wanda's hand still stays in his, and she doesn't run straight for her car. Leaving Pietro to drive Crystal, Natasha and Nebula, and climbing into Tony's car with him. Curling into his side, and he barely hears whatever Tony is rambling about, distracted by the way she feels against him. Her fingers are cold, and he cups them between his hands in an attempt to warm her up.

The stands surrounding the football field are already half-full, but they get the front rows. As seniors, school royalty, it's a given that they have the best seats. A wind is already whipping through the rickety seats, and Vision pulls his coat tighter around himself, instinctively wrapping an arm around Wanda to pull her close. "Are you cold?" he asks softly, mouth almost against her ear they're so crushed together by the crowds.

"A little," she says softly, and curls further into his side. "But you're warm. Just don't let go of me."

"Of course not," he promises, and she smiles up at him, and it's almost easy to forget that they're pretending. Even as the game starts and cheering erupts through the stands, he's distracted from the usual way he dreamily watches Sam by Wanda, the curve of her waist under his hand.

Sam is the best player on the field, the team captain, with a charming smile shot towards the stands, and Wanda is leaning up to whisper, "I can understand why you like him." And, watching him, Vision feels the familiar swoop in his stomach, and Wanda moves impossibly closer. "It's okay, you can look. No one's going to think anything."

"They'll notice me staring," he whispers back, and she just rolls her eyes.

"You're not staring, you're watching the team captain play the first game of the season," she says. "And we'll just do some very public grinding at the party, no one will doubt we're dating then." Shivering slightly, she asks, "Can I have your cardigan?"

"What?"

"I'm cold," she says with another shiver. "And it's a couples thing. Girlfriends wear their boyfriends' sweaters and cardigans. If you had a letterman jacket, I'd borrow that."

"Okay," he says, wriggling out of his coat and cardigan and handing the cardigan to Wanda before he replaces his coat. "But don't lose it or spill anything on it. I made it myself, it was my first big knitting project."

"I'll be careful, Vizh, give me  _some_  credit," she says, and when she pulls his cardigan around herself something hot boils in his belly. Looking at the way something he wears often, something that smells like him, fits to her smaller body is fascinating. It's too long for her, and she has to roll the sleeves up over her hands, and he takes her hands back in his to keep them warm. He's just being considerate, of course.

The game ends in a win, but if Vision was asked to give a play-by-play he would have no idea what happened. He lost track of what was going on sometime around when a violently shivering Wanda casually slipped her hands inside his coat for extra warmth, and he couldn't think straight for the pressure of her hands against his chest. But Tony is loudly discussing it as they all walk back to their cars, waving his soda cup to make a point, and then turning around and saying, "Thanks for the company, but Brucie and I have to go home. Duty calls."

"You sure you can't come to the party, Bruce?" Natasha asks, and Vision's jaw drops slightly, exchanging a glance with Tony, who looks utterly thrilled.

"Early shift at work tomorrow," Bruce says with an apologetic shrug. "Maybe next time."

"Yeah, we'll be ready for the next one," Tony assures them, then he and Bruce wander off, and Vision is left to let Wanda tug him towards the cars, everyone piling into two cars in an unsafe manner and speeding off towards the waiting party.

Music is already blasting from Thor's family home, a sprawling haphazard estate with an overgrown garden, and Vision pauses to marvel at the fountain in the driveway, while Wanda pauses and laughs softly. "Isn't it ridiculous?" she asks softly, and he turns wide eyes on her.

"It's beautiful," he says, and she softens, squeezing his hand before pulling him after her towards the doorway spilling light into the darkness.

The manor is crowded, the music loud, and Wanda is pecking him on the cheek and asking, "You want a beer?" and he's nodding, disorientated by everything happening around him. The last  _real_  party he attended was the one where he and Wanda first kissed, and that was at thirteen. There was no alcohol, no couples draped across the stairs and attached at the lips, no loud music and clearly absent parents.

Wanda returns pressing a red plastic cup into his hands and pulling him into a dimly-lit room, where Natasha and Nebula are already sitting and swigging some mysterious concoction from flasks, pressing him down onto a couch and climbing into his lap, and she doesn't bother smoothing her skirt down. Giving him an awful lot of her pale thighs to look at, to lose himself in gazing at, until the couch sinks under a new weight and he turns his head to find Sam having joined their little group. Which immediately makes him blush worse than he already was.

"What did you all think of the game, ladies?" he asks, and then drops a wink at Vision. "And you, of course, Wanda's boyfriend."

"Honestly, Wilson, we've all known each other since middle school, get his name right," Wanda says, shifting in Vision's lap and making his face  _burn_. "Pretty good game, although I wasn't paying a lot of attention."

"Honeymoon phases, they get even the most logical of people," Sam says with a theatrical sigh, and turns to Natasha. "What about you, Tasha? Did you appreciate my performance?" Without answering, Natasha gets up and walks towards the space that's been cleared for dancing, and Sam just huffs. "Nebs? Throw me a bone here."

They descend into a serious discussion on tactics, and Vision somehow finds that he's finished his cup of beer and has another. Then another, when more of the football team are sprawled on the ground and he's talking to Peter Quill like they're equals, while Gamora and Nebula are passing a flask back and forth and Wanda is just sitting in his lap, her arm around his neck and her fingertips sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck, making him shudder.

"Come dance with me," she breathes, her lips brushing against the delicate shell of his ear, and he's nodding without really considering the implications. She unwraps his cardigan from around herself and tosses it over the back of the couch, and he's finishing his fourth - or fifth? Maybe sixth? - cup of beer and placidly letting Wanda pull him towards the throng of dancers.

"I don't know how to dance," he mumbles when Wanda pulls him close and winds her arms around his neck, and he can smell her perfume, intoxicated with it.

"Just follow my lead," she says, and for some reason that whisper of an instruction makes his heart skip. It's like he forgets to breathe when Wanda starts to dance, her hips moving against his, her eyes very bright in the dim room. And it gets worse when she unwinds her arms from around him, smirking, and turns to press her back into his chest, her body swaying in time to the music, sliding her fingers through his to curl his hands around her hips.

Swallowing thickly, he murmurs, "You're a very good dancer," and thrills at the visible curve of her smile.

"You're a good partner," she breathes, and he blushes, thankful it's hidden by the lowered lights. When the song changes to something more upbeat, something she's singing along to loudly, she grips his hand in hers and keeps him next to her, even when Natasha pulls her into a dance. Spinning with them, he feels giddy and free, head swimming. Maybe it's the alcohol, but he's sure that this is the most fun he's ever had, and Wanda is so pretty when she's this happy, her hair flying and her skirt swirling.

But the fun abruptly comes to a halt when Wanda stops spinning and her eyes flash, and she's stalking across the room, and he turns to see Pietro holding court over a group of people, with Vision's cardigan around his shoulders like a cape, affecting a strong English accent and saying, "Look at me, I wear vintage bowties and answer in class and I think I'm  _so_  hipster and unique when really I'm just too shy to do anything but let my clothes do the talking, and God knows  _why_  Wanda Maximoff is dating me, maybe she just likes them  _silent_ -"

"Pietro!" Wanda shouts, her face and neck blotched an ugly red with fury, and Natasha is running forward to stand between the siblings, a pacifying hand held up to each of them. It must not be the first time this has happened, and all the buzz of the alcohol drains out of Vision like air from a balloon. "Take that off!"

"Finder's keepers, baby sister," Pietro says, and his audience guffaws, and Wanda is shoving past Natasha and violently snatching the cardigan away from her brother, smoothing it protectively over her arm. "What the hell, Wanda?! We're just having fun! Can't you learn to laugh at your boyfriend?"

"Not when you're doing it to be a fucking bully," Wanda snarls, and Vision almost takes a step back in astonishment at her ferocity. No one's ever defended him so  _vehemently_  before. "Leave Vision alone, Pietro. He's my boyfriend and you're just going to have to learn to like it."

"Come on,  _him_?" Pietro scoffs. "He's just a nerd, Wanda. You can do way, way better."

Vision turns away then, tears clouding his eyes, and walks out of the house despite Wanda calling, "Vizh? Babe?  _Vision_?!" after him. The cold outside is a shock on his skin, sobering, and he sits down on the grass and draws his knees up to his chest, cradling his head in his hands and trying very hard not to cry.

"Ignore him." He glances up to find Thor standing over him, a cup in each hand, sympathy in his gaze despite his rough voice. "Pietro always gets dickish like this when he's drunk. Three of his and Crystal's break-ups were because he was a prick to someone after a few beers. Maybe this'll lead to break-up number six." He sits heavily down next to Vision, offering him a cup. "Want some? It's not beer, it's much nicer stuff."

"I think I've had enough," Vision says faintly, hating how his breath hitches with the effort of not crying. "Is...is that really what people think of me? That Wanda just wanted a silent boyfriend?"

"Don't be silly," Thor says, clapping him on the back in a gesture that would probably be comforting if it wasn't so hard that Vision jerks rather violently forward. "Lots of people think you're a nice guy who we just don't let get a word in edgeways. Trust me, Natasha approves, and if you can impress her you impress most of us. Romanoff is not an easy woman to impress."

"I like you too," comes another voice, and Crystal is sitting down next to them, smiling at Vision. "Ignore Pietro, he's such a dick to anyone who even tries to date Wanda. He just can't handle her going behind his back to date you." She rolls her eyes extravagantly, then gives Vision a smile. "Wanda likes you a lot. That much is obvious."

There's a ruckus behind them, shouting and a slammed door, and Vision turns his head to see Wanda stalking towards them, her cheeks laced with angry red and her hair flying. "Crystal, can you see Pietro home?" she asks. "Or have him stay at yours or just  _something_? I can't stand to look at him for one more minute."

"I'll go see to him," Crystal says soothingly, and walks back towards the house.

"That means she'll go have sex with him to make him behave again," Thor says, so mildly that Vision almost chokes out a laugh. "I better go herd them into an appropriate room."

"C'mon, Vizh," Wanda says, and holds out a hand to help him up. "I'm taking you home." When she pulls him upright, their bodies collide, and he's reminded of dancing with her, feeling himself blush.

She pulls him to her car in silence, and they've been driving for ten minutes before she sighs and says, "I'm so sorry, Vizh. I wish...you shouldn't have to be around that. If you don't wanna come to parties anymore, I will more than understand."

"No, it's...it's okay-"

"No it's  _not_!" she shouts, and when he looks at her he sees her eyes gleaming with tears, and his stomach lurches with worry, and guilt that it's because of him she's upset. "God, he's such an  _asshole_ , he can't cope with the thought of me seeing someone, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't let him anywhere near you, you're too good and sweet for this  _bullshit_ -"

"Wanda, it's alright," he tries to reassure her. "I've been dealing with bullies my whole life, you don't have to worry about me, I-"

"God, I  _hate_  this," she says, letting her head fall forward against the wheel. "You shouldn't have been dealing with any bullies, never mind my  _brother_. You're so wonderful, Vizh. I don't understand why they can't see that."

"You think I'm wonderful?" he asks softly, and she turns to look at him with a softness he can't understand in her face.

"Of course I do," she says, and he can't help smiling. "I've known you since we were thirteen, and you're the best fake boyfriend a girl could ever ask for."

"Oh...thank you," he says, and she grins at him.

"You're welcome," she says, and adds that Sokovian nickname, and he can feel his pulse pounding in his ears. Only doubling when she drops him off with a kiss on the cheek, and waits until he's safely inside before she drives away. Leaving him to toss and turn for hours trying to sleep, thinking of her smile and the way her body felt swaying against his.


	3. dream about that casual touch

**A/N** **:** Yes, I've put the chapter count up again, because I keep getting overly verbose in my chapters! Hope everyone enjoys this installment! :D

* * *

Needles clicking over stitches of blended red and black, the ball of wool nestled between his crossed legs, Vision frowns at dusk falling outside the window and reaches to turn on his light, angling it to better illuminate what he hopes will eventually come cohesively together as a scarf. Red and black, and meant as a gift for Wanda. He blushes even  _thinking_  her name, lost in memories of her body swaying against his, and hisses when the edge of a needle catches his thumb, scraping raw over his skin. Not drawing blood, but making him drop a few stitches and sigh in long-suffering, unravelling a row to start again.

Turning the volume on his headphones up a notch to drown out the laughter of children snatching the last sunlit warmth of the evening outside, he relaxes into the familiar routine of knitting, of watching his creation unfurl from his needles. While his hands work on instinct, he lets himself get lost in the story unravelling through his headphones, a tale of love and lust and how they fit together, of masks and mysterious pasts and a lonely girl's search for something more.

The words seep into his mind, his heart, his soul, and he finds himself dancing in a room lit only by candlelight, the princess chosen for him twirling beneath his arm and blinking up at him with her picture-perfect blue eyes. And yet he looks outside of the picture, of the future crafted for him, to the stranger in his white mask at the edge of the room, a devil in angel's clothing, his dark eyes gleaming with promise. A beckoning in his silky smile, and it's making his heart pound faster, making his grip on this princess loosen.

And yet, even as he gives his quiet apologies to the princess, there is another in his path. Green eyes gleaming behind a black mask formed of intricate lace, and his mouth is dry at her way of dressing, the black silk clinging to her white skin, and her red lips are curling into a smirk. Her arms sliding around his neck, and he falls into step with her out of instinct, their bodies meeting in the dance of lovers. Looking down at her, into her eyes, he's spellbound. The world doesn't exist past the warm places where their bodies are joined. He forgets the dark eyes behind a white mask.

Vision jerks abruptly out of his daydream, the sharp movement of his arms knocking his headphones out, when Helen opens his door, and immediately looks apologetic. "I did knock, sweetheart," she says, and he just nods, blushing while he tries to fold his knitting up neatly and pretend he didn't just have a very confusing fantasy. "Wanda is downstairs. She wants to see you."

Blushing even worse over how touchingly proud Helen looks, wondering if the guilt over lying to her will ever become less hot and prickling, he stands up and smooths his clothes down, glancing at himself in the mirror and questioning if he looks right to be seeing Wanda. If the fact that he hasn't left his room except to shower and eat is showing, if this cardigan fits a little too loosely or the blue doesn't suit him right, if his hair with the odd wave it always gets when he doesn't comb it enough looks odd.

"Do you want me to invite her in for a minute, sweetheart?" Helen asks, and he hastily shakes his head, covering his clothes with his heavy black coat and wrapping a dark grey scarf around his neck, tucking his phone, wallet and keys into his pockets and rushing past Helen.

Wanda is waiting on the doorstep, and he catches himself admiring her, a new fluttering in his chest. Her hair is braided again, and her dark green coat makes the colour of her eyes shine brighter, her skin paler, has her looking so pretty under the emerging stars. "Hi," he says, otherwise lost for words, and she smiles, reaching for his hand.

"Let's go for a drive," she says, and he follows her silently, their fingers twined together and her soft smile when he stumbles over a crack in the paving of the driveway. When he climbs into her car, there's a cardboard cup already waiting in the holder next to his seat, and she's climbing into the driver's seat and giving him a soft smile. "I brought you a hot chocolate," she says, and he's speechless, so struck by the gesture.

"Why?" he asks, a single strangled syllable, unable to comprehend why she would want to do this. People just don't make these kinds of gestures to him. He's not used to anyone turning up at his door just because they want to. "You know, Wanda, you're...you're not actually my girlfriend. There's no need for you to make these gestures for me."

"I'm your friend," she says, insistently pressing the cardboard cup into his hand, making his mouth dry when their fingers brush, a spark of electricity leaping between them. "And you're the one I want to be around tonight, Vizh."

"Don't you want to be at home with your family?" he asks, and she just rolls her eyes, turning her car smoothly out of the driveway and into the streetlight-lined streets of the night. "Are you having...issues with them? Your family?" Hot guilt pours like lead down the back of his neck, and he asks, "Is it because of me?" so quietly, horrified by the mere thought of it.

"No, it's not you, I promise," she says, and yet he still can't relax, feeling the tension in his arms and shoulders and chest, like steel bands clamped to his skin. "I just need to be out of there sometimes. I start to feel...trapped when I'm inside for too long. And I thought maybe you might be lonely." She glances at him, biting her lip, then hastily says, "But you don't have to come with me if you don't want to! I can take you home, if you were busy." Flushing, her gaze darting away from his, she rushes out, "God, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just shown up at your door-"

"It's okay," he cuts across, trying to reassure her, and tries to smooth his face into what he hopes is a reassuring smile when she shoots a nervous look at him. "I...I suppose I do get a little lonely on some nights. It's nice to see a friendly face." Settling into the passenger seat, he glances at her, the concentration on her face as she carefully steers the car through the dark, and is entranced for a moment by how moon-pale her skin is at night, her eyes the colour of holly leaves in the winter, and how without make-up she seems so much softer, how she's entrancing either way. The dark length of her eyelashes drawing the eye, the sharp cut of her cheekbones, the slight pale scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. "Do you do this often?"

"Do what?" she asks softly, the streetlights winking like fluorescent stars in the shadows of the streets, houses looming up in silhouettes before they slip away.

"Drive," he says. "At night. Just like this. When you...when you feel trapped."

"I suppose I do," she says, turning the wheel smoothly. "I used to ride bikes, or just walk, or sometimes I'd climb up onto the roof and sit and look up at the sky. Just to see that there's so much more to the world than me and my problems. That everything is out there and it's beautiful and there's so much for me to see outside of this town."

"Oh." He's lost for words, seeing the shadow of sadness in her eyes, wondering what there is behind her polished exterior that makes her need to leave the house. Makes her feel trapped, when she always seems so free and happy. "Where do you go?"

She glances sideways at him, and her eyes are bright, and she softly says, "Let me show you."

The car comes to a halt outside of the town, in quiet darkness, and he climbs out cautiously, the wind whipping along the streets, rustling the leaves on the trees, thin veins of cold working their way beneath his coat and making him shiver. Wanda is rustling around in her glove compartment and producing a flashlight, looping a velvety black scarf around her neck and reaching for his hand, her fingers cold as ice in his grasp. She pulls him after her, into the silence but for the wind and the chittering of animals in the dark, and when she flicks the flashlight into life they catch a glimpse of the coppery end of a fox's tail disappearing into the dark.

They're climbing a hill, in relative silence, and the dewy grass is soaking into the turn-ups of his jeans, leaving beaded drops on the polished toes of his shoes, and all he can see is the slight sheen of the pale moonlight on Wanda's coat, her hair, the silvery caress of it on her skin. The wind is creeping beneath his clothes, making goosebumps rise on his arms, and he's about to open his mouth to nervously ask where they're going when they reach the peak of the hill.

At first glance, it doesn't seem to be much to look at. There's a few bushes, whispering in the wind, and a tree bowed by years of wind, and a single bench positioned to look back at the lights of the town. But when he looks up, the breath catches in his chest. With the lights left behind, there's no misty orange glow to block out the stars, and they are stunningly beautiful, shining bright against the dark curtain of the night sky. "Wow," he breathes, and when he looks back Wanda is smiling at him, the sky reflected in her eyes. "This is...just... _stunning_."

"It's my favourite place," she says softly, pulling him to sit with her, the stars winking down at them as she curls into his side, and he happily lets her steal his warmth. "The only place where I can really feel...calm. Completely peaceful." Looking up at him, her face pale in the shadows, she asks, "Do you have a place like that?"

"I suppose...just my bedroom," he says with a slight shrug, his arm suddenly naturally slipping around Wanda's waist, pulling her closer into his side when he recognises how violently she's shivering. "When I have my music on, or an audiobook, and I'm there by myself. It's where I'm...centred. Where I can be wholly myself, with no one looking at me and thinking I'm strange."

"You'll have to show me your bedroom," she says with a small slant of a smile, and he prays that the chill of the wind will keep his blush at the thought of a girl as pretty as Wanda seeing his bedroom from being too obvious. "If it's decorated half as nicely as you dress, it must be a lovely place."

"I like to think so," he says, and she giggles softly, turning her face into the shoulder of his coat. "So...why do you like it up here so much? Why a dark hill instead of...I don't know, maybe a café? Or the dog park?"

"I just like it out here, a little bit further away from town," she says, tightening her scarf around her neck. "I like being able to see the stars. It...it reminds me of home." She shifts on the bench, curling her fingers into the gleam of a gold necklace beneath her scarf, and quietly says, "In Sokovia."

"That's where you're from, isn't it?" he asks, and she nods silently, her lips pursed in a hard line. "How long have you lived here?"

"We were ten when we were adopted, then our adoptive parents lived with us in Sokovia for a year before we moved back to the States," she says, and he tries to communicate his sympathy in the way he holds her. "And...it was a culture shock. Sokovia was nothing like New York. When we first got here, I hated not being able to see the sky at night. How it was always too bright to look for all my favourite constellations. I need to be able to see the sky. To feel free."

"Why?" he asks, and feels himself flush when she turns to look at him. "I don't mean to pry. I just...I like looking at the sky too. I spent a summer in Korea with Helen, while she was working at a laboratory and leading conferences, and every night I would be in our little rented apartment making a model of the universe. The planets. Reading books about the study of space."

"Well aren't we a pair of nerds," she says, and he cracks a small smile, gives a breath of a laugh. "I like it because...God, are you really ready to hear my tragic backstory?"

"You can share anything you want to with me, Wanda," he promises, and she smiles slightly, leaning against him.

"Okay, then prepare yourself, it's a tearjerker," she says. "You know about the Sokovian civil war, right?" He nods, remembering the news bulletins he'd walk in on Helen watching, seeing her concern, the quiet way she would tell him that violence is not the way to change anything, but that people who willingly fight and die to protect other people are heroes. "We were born into it. Me and Pietro. Our father was a leader of the group trying to help, to keep Sokovia steady against the rebellions. Every day there would be another piece of bad news, someone else dying, but him and my mother tried to keep that away from us. We had a happy childhood, we really did. I learned the family recipes, the songs, the language, our parents taught us everything they could. They taught us to be proud of our country."

She shudders, her breath heaving through her body, and he takes her head instinctively and squeezes it, a small reassuring touch. "We were nine when we lost our parents," she says, and he holds her tighter, regret shooting like a hot needle through his chest when she blinks and a tear slips down her cheek, pearlescent in the moonlight. "A bomb hit our apartment building. They both died straight away. Me and Pietro were buried in the rubble, waiting for rescue. I was trapped under a bed frame, and he'd been thrown too far away from me to really be reassuring, he was trapped too. We were there for two days before someone found us. Imagine being stuck in the dark, knowing your parents are dead, and you can't do anything but keep calling out for someone to help you."

Tears are slipping down her cheeks, and he's carefully pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, pressing it insistently into her hand. She sniffs hard, his heart aching at seeing her so upset, and says, "I've had problems with claustrophobia ever since. No matter how big the space is, sometimes I...I just blink, and I'm back there, trapped in the dark. It's...the older I get, the easier it is to cope with. I have to hope that one day, maybe...maybe it won't be so awful. It'll be manageable. I think that's the best I can ever hope for."

He gazes at her in silence for a long moment, just watching her dabbing at her wet eyes, and finally says, "I'm so sorry, Wanda. I...I had no idea. You always seem so...put-together. So strong."

"Haven't you ever heard of a defense mechanism, Vizh?" she asks, dabbing the silvery teartracks off her cheeks. "I...it helps. Pretending to be strong and okay. Some days it makes me feel like I really am okay."

"Thank you for telling me," he says, and she just nods. "You don't have to share this with me. Any of it."

"I want to," she says softly, and gives him a small, tremulous smile. "You're very easy to talk to. I...it took years for me to tell Nat all of this. Pietro doesn't know all of it. Nor do my parents."

"I'm honoured to know it," he says solemnly. "And I won't tell anyone. I promise." He clears his throat slightly, and says, "And if you ever feel trapped, you...you can always call me. I like going for bike rides and drives and walks. It's not safe for you to be walking around alone at night."

"My knight in shining armour," she teases, and he blushes. "Maybe I'll take you up on that, Vizh. Or even...just being at your house instead of mine? I just need the change of scenery some days."

"Of course," he promises, and she smiles. "Anything you want, Wanda. I will try to be the person you need."

"Thank you," she says, her eyes glistening slightly with a new wave of tears, and kisses his cheek before she snuggles further into his side. "You're the best fake boyfriend ever."

"Thank you," he says, and she giggles. And he hopes that there's no shadow of disappointment in his voice. No sign that, just for a moment, he forgot that this wasn't real.

* * *

With the worn spine of his book propped against his knees, Vision keeps noticing himself distracted by the way the autumn sunlight shifts through Wanda's hair when she finishes unravelling her braids and shakes them out, combing her fingers through the glossy dark strands caught up with bright spots of gold. She shifts closer to him, her breath a frosted cloud in the cool air, and he finds himself too distracted to keep reading, instead slipping an arm around her. "You're cold," he says softly, feeling her shivering slightly, and she looks up at him and smiles with her burgundy-painted lips.

"Then you better keep me warm," she says sweetly, and he pulls her closer, blushing slightly at the kiss she darts to his cheek. He's already spent most of the school morning thinking about the way her striped jumper is fitted to her body, her legs so long and slim in tight black jeans and shiny burgundy boots, and having her so close is making his heart beat faster and his breath shorten in amazement.

"Whose idea was it to sit outside for lunch when it's this cold?!" comes a shout, and Wanda is rolling her eyes, Vision tensing up when Pietro sprawls out on the dew-damp grass, letterman jacket thrown carelessly around his shoulders and hair wet from the showers.

"I think it's a nice day," Natasha cuts in, lowering her sunglasses an inch or so down her nose to give Pietro a withering look. "If you're so cold, you can always go back inside."

"I'm perfectly willing to cuddle your girlfriend to keep her warm," Nebula says, giving Crystal a flirtatious wink that makes her laugh, and Pietro looks thunderous, forcing Vision to hide his slight smile in Wanda's hair.

"We can share the burden of keeping Crystal warm," Tony says with a grin, and Nebula slyly leans over to shake his hand in agreement, and Crystal is laughing, the atmosphere not so different to the time before Vision was allowed to sit with the gilded set.

Sometimes it's strange to think that he hasn't always sat with this group of people, when he's been so easily accepted. Even now Natasha is leaning over to steal a carrot stick from his carefully-packed tub, and Carol is tossing a pair of cookies across their circle to Wanda, and no one is being overtly mean to him. Pietro may glare, but there isn't much he can do when Wanda is draping herself over him. When she's pulling her leather jacket down her arms to expose her shoulders to the sun, and his breath is catching at her pale skin, a momentary thought crossing his mind imagining pressing his lips to the line of her collarbones. Wondering if her breath would catch like it has after they've kissed.

He's drawn back to reality with a brutal bump when there's a loud call of, "Wanda, darling, don't you know it's cold?! Put your shoulders away!"

"You wear shorts on snow days, Sam," Wanda says, and Vision is caught between looking at her and looking at Sam as he sits down next to them, a blinding grin on his charming face, short sleeves showing his arms sculpted by captaining the football team. He's thinking off his increasingly strange dreams, of the long-running fantasy of the handsome stranger arriving to distract a young prince from his duty being changed by the new dreams of a beautiful but dangerous young woman, calling for secret meetings and close encounters in the dark.

"Well your shoulders could set someone aflame, Wanda," Sam teases, and she rolls her eyes, and Vision's mouth goes dry when Sam looks at him, eyes bright with mischief. "Doesn't it set you aflame, Vision?"

Lost for words, distracted by the full brightness of Sam's smile directed at him and Wanda's weight against his side, the curve of her hip beneath his hand, he forces himself to swallow against his dry throat and struggles out, "I...um...I..."

"Oh, of course, you don't want to discuss such things in front of the killjoy brother," Sam says with a pointed glance at Pietro diligently emptying hot sauce into his chicken wrap, and Vision seizes on the excuse, nodding frantically. "Well, we'll have a little conversation at the Halloween party. As I am now unfortunately and incomprehensibly single, I am here to help those who are lucky enough to have someone to come home to at the end of the day."

"You're  _so_  dramatic, Sam," Wanda says, rolling her eyes, and the way her hand is clasped over Vision's arm is making his heart feel like it might beat right out of his chest. "You know you could ask out pretty much any girl in this school and she'd say yes."

"I wouldn't!" Nebula says loudly, lifting an eyebrow at the wounded look Sam shoots her way.

"Well perhaps my tastes are a little more discerning than just any pretty girl," Sam says, and Wanda is rolling her eyes even more exaggeratedly, twining her fingers through Vision's to pull his arm more securely around her waist and stealing the words he was about to say away. "You know, if Sharon hadn't come first I probably would've asked you out, Wanda."

"And I would've said no, Wilson," Wanda says with a sugar-sweet smile, and Sam puts a theatrical hand to his heart. "I was never interested in dating the captain of the football team." She leans into Vision's side, smiles softly up at him in a way that almost feels real, if he couldn't see the lie at the edges, and softly says, "I was waiting for someone like Vizh."

"You're a lucky guy, Vision," Sam says, and then turns his attention away from them, to the girl in a heavy black coat sitting alone watching the distant shadows of birds wheeling through the pale grey sky. "Hey! Mantis! Why don't you join us?!"

Vision gives the dark-haired girl a shy wave, and she's looking around their tiny circle with doubt in her eyes, even as Sam is shrugging off his letterman jacket and laying it out on the grass for her to sit down. "Hi," she says shyly, and Sam is beaming at her. "Why are you asking me to sit with you?"

"I need you tell me what kind of bird that is," Sam says, pointing, and Mantis just squints at him in confusion.

"That's a robin," she says, and Sam just gives her a pantomime look of astonishment. "Is this...some kind of joke?"

"No, no, of course not!" Sam says, and gives her the kind of smile that could make the world stop. "I like your style, seeing right through me. You should sit with us all the time. Tell us about the birds."

Wanda is smiling slightly at Mantis, and Vision turns his head to softly ask, "Why is Sam inviting her to sit here?"

"It's a bit of a secret," Wanda says, and he's fully prepared to just leave it be when she says, "But a terribly kept one." Moving slightly closer, her breath whispering warm against his neck and making him shudder at the sensation, she breathes, "Nebula has had a serious crush on Mantis for over a year, and Nat and I have been trying to think of a subtle way to set them up for almost as long." Vision glances at Sam talking nineteen to the dozen to a perplexed Mantis, then turning around to ask Nebula, a wash of pink spilling over the tops of her cheeks, for her opinion, and Wanda giggles and says, "Sam is not gifted with the art of subtlety."

"Oh my God, Mantis, you should come to the Halloween party!" Sam suddenly says, and Mantis just looks round-eyed and surprised and a little grateful, really, for the welcome. "Our lovely Crystal - you know Crystal, right?" He points, and Crystal gives Mantis a small wave, looking bemused by Sam's behaviour. "Well, she's hosting, and the mantra of her parties is the more the merrier, right?" A nod, and Sam is turning a searchlight beam grin on Mantis. "So you should come! It's on Saturday night, and it's bound to be amazing.  _Everyone_  is going!"

"Well...are you going, Vision?" Mantis asks, turning to him with a nervous look in her eyes. He knows how she feels, the fear that this group of brave, confident people are simply playing a joke on her. But he's seen some of what's lurking beneath Wanda's polished, perfect exterior, and he can't help but think that most of the people in this group must have such scars.

"Of course I'm going," he says, feeling Wanda's hand creeping over his shoulder, and reaching up to twine his fingers through hers, giving her a small smile that he hopes reads as besotted to those around them. But not to her. They're still pretending, no matter how many times a day he has to remind himself of that when her hand is in his or she curls into his side at the lunch table. "We're doing a couples costume. Although she won't tell me what it is."

"Well it's no fun if you know," she says, with his nickname that's become familiar, the soft warmth of her voice whenever she says it. It's not very often she says it, but when she does her eyes shine and her cheeks flush and his heart beats so fast and he forgets about everyone and everything that isn't her.

"I mean...it does sound fun," Mantis says, and Sam is grinning hopefully at her. "I guess I will come."

"Wonderful!" Sam says, reaching over to squeeze Mantis' hand, and she just looks shocked. But happy. Happy to be included, the feeling Vision knows so well. To not be locked out and lonely anymore. "I'll send you the details. Am I right in thinking you're providing all the booze, Crystal?"

"My parents are, on the condition nothing gets broken and no one drives drunk," Crystal says, and Sam smiles around the circle.

"Then everyone get a cab company number on speed dial, because it is Halloween season and we are going to party like it's 1999!"

* * *

Bruce pulls the car up to a pair of towering wrought-iron gates, opened wide and hung with orange and black streamers, a skeleton beginning to glow luridly in the dark attached to one half of it positioned to look like it's waving, and turns a shocked face to Vision. "Are you sure this is the right house?" he asks, and Vision nods, tugging at the collar of his turtleneck.

Leaning over from the backseat, where he's still applying liberal amounts of eyeliner to turn himself into Jack Sparrow, Tony lets out a low whistle and says, " _Wow_ , Crystal's family must have  _serious_  money."

"Wanda said she has an indoor pool," Vision says, and Tony's eyes light up. "Just drive up to the house, Bruce, Crystal said there would be space for designated drivers to park. Most people aren't driving anyway."

The music can be heard even outside, and there's already a group of people on the steps up to the ornate front door, smoking and drinking and laughing. Tony is grinning, the gold cap he put on one of his teeth gleaming, and adjusting his pirate hat to a rakish angle before he takes off towards the group, throwing an arm around Peter Quill in a Han Solo costume and joining in on the conversation without a care in the world. Vision is about to hang back and wait for Bruce, when someone detaches themself from the group on the steps and rushes towards him, stumbling on the gravelled driveway.

Wanda beams up at him from beneath her red wig, the colour of it making her eyes so much brighter, and cups her hands to his face, rendering him utterly breathless. "You look great!" she says, picking at the front of his turtleneck, and his mouth is completely dry, making it impossible to speak. "You should wear black more often, babe. Makes you look sexy."

"Have...have you been drinking?" he asks, and she giggles, and he watches her tuck her black shirt tighter into her jeans, run a hand through her wig and glance up at him from beneath her lashes in a way that makes his stomach twist hotly. "Wanda, you're drunk."

"I'm letting loose!" she says, batting at his chest. "Come on, you should come have fun too. Nat and Nebs and I have all found a prime spot for dancing. Mantis is here!"

She grabs his hand and tugs him after her, barely giving him enough time to give Bruce an apologetic look before he's swallowed into the noise of the party. It seems like half the students in the school are flooding the house, and he looks away from a couple draped across the stairs, cheeks flaring red. He's increasingly aware of other people kissing, when he's come so close to bringing his mouth much too close to Wanda's, when he's been dreaming about kisses with a handsome masked stranger and a bright-eyed seductive woman. Sometimes his mind goes off on its own tangent and imagines kissing Wanda, draped across stairs or pressed against a shadowed wall in the corner of a party.

"The boyfriend's here!" Wanda shouts, and there's a greeting raise of a cup from Nebula, draped across the couch in ripped jeans and a white shirt with  _THIS IS MY HALLOWEEN COSTUME_  scrawled haphazardly across it.

"Oh my God, you're Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable!" Natasha shouts, and Wanda nods happily, clutching at Vision and making it very difficult to slow his heartbeat or calm his blushing. "That's sickeningly cute. I thought Pietro and Crystal as Harry and Ginny was bad enough."

"I had such a huge crush on Kim Possible when I was a kid," Nebula says, and turns her gaze to Vision, the corner of her mouth curling up in a smirk. "Better watch out, Vision, or I'm gonna steal your girl."

"No one could steal me away from him," Wanda says, and she's leaning further into him, and he can smell her perfume and the sickly sweet scent of alcohol clinging to her, and when he manages to get his bearings and shift a few empty cans out of the way to sit down she climbs into his lap, a warm distracting weight on top of him. "I like him  _a lot_."

"How can you be Eastern European and still have such a terrible alcohol tolerance?" Natasha asks coolly, pouring herself another drink of something clear that smells disgustingly strong.

"It's your fault, we got ready together," Wanda says, and Vision is just lost in watching her. Noticing the freckles breaking through her make-up, the eyeliner wing swooping over her left eye slightly smudged, and when she shifts her shirt comes loose from her jeans and he catches a glimpse of a thin strip of pale skin. Setting his mind alight with a lot of sudden thoughts that he doesn't want, thoughts about tracing his fingertips along that strip of skin, following the same path with his lips, wondering on how her breath would hitch and stutter at the attention.

"Oh dear God," Nebula suddenly breathes, looking at someone across the room, and Vision turns his head and almost immediately chokes the can of lemonade he managed to find, slightly too warm but still drinkable. Sam is sashaying across the room dressed entirely in incredibly tight black leather, smugly grinning at all the heads turning his way, and leans over the back of the couch with a grin. "Well, there go all my Catwoman-related fantasies. Thanks Wilson."

"You know you love it," Sam says, and Vision is gaping helplessly at him. Barely clothed, straps of leather crossing his chest but not much else, everything tight beyond belief, and still grinning and at ease. Confident, where Vision spent ten minutes adjusting his turtleneck because it was fitted so close to the skin. He's torn between wishing he had Sam's confidence and just wishing that he was anywhere near likely to kiss him.

"I can't believe you're strutting around in leather," Natasha says, tucking her hair behind her ear and tugging at the purple cape around her shoulders. "You know Crystal's gonna be mad you look hotter than her."

"A compliment from the great Natasha Romanoff!" Sam exclaims, climbing over the back of the couch with a squeak of leather and draping himself over the arm of the couch. "I've waited years for that, my wonderful friend!"

"It's actually infuriating that you can strut into a party shirtless and you're so invincible no one bats an eyelid," Wanda says, shifting her weight in Vision's lap and bring all his attention back to her, worsening his blushing. Thankfully, it's mostly hidden by the dimness of the room.

"I work hard for this physique, might as well show it off," Sam says, and gives her an up and down look that makes Vision bristle with jealousy. Whether it's because he'd rather Sam was looking at him like that, or because he wants to be the only one looking at Wanda, he's not sure. "And you look fabulous too, Wanda. A very classic couples costume you two are rocking tonight."

"Thank you," she says sweetly, and gets to her feet. "Come dance with me, babe."

She pulls him along with her, to a different room where the music is so loud Vision can't hear his own doubt, and she's smiling up into his eyes and starting to sway her hips against his in time to the beat, and he's breathless, speechless, unable to do anything but stare at her. She's giggling, pulling his hands to curve around her hips, and breathing, "Come on, Vizh. Show me what you've got."

"You're very drunk," he says, and she shrugs up at him, her eyes bright and shining and her lips parted, her lipstick smudged slightly. It makes her lips somehow even prettier, more tempting, and he tries to shake away that train of thought. If he only had the excuse of being drunk, uninhibited, but all of this is just him with no outside influence. And he can't be kissing Wanda. Not when they're only dating because of his secret crush on Sam. And her being closeted. It can't be real.

"You're very gorgeous," she says, and his mouth goes so dry he can't even swallow to help himself. Because even though she's drunk, he doesn't think she's lying. Her pink cheeks are breaking through her make-up and she's wrapping her arms around his neck, bringing their bodies closer together, and the press of her hips against his is making his head spin. "You look really good in black."

"You said that," he says softly, and she grins.

"I'm reiterating it," she says, stumbling slightly over the syllables, and reaches up to smooth his hair, an oddly absorbed look in her eyes. "Why aren't you  _dancing_ , Vizh?!"

"I...I'm too hot," he says, and she tilts her head at him. "In this jumper. I'm too hot to dance."

"Then take it off!" she says lightly, and he flushes, heat creeping up the back of his neck.

"I can't, I...I'm not wearing anything underneath." Her eyebrow arches, and he quickly adds, "It just...it's very tight, and it didn't quite...look right with anything underneath."

"You're not even wearing, like, an undershirt?" Her hand slides away from his shoulder and before he can even swallow thickly her fingers have slid beneath the hem of his jumper, cool against his warm skin, and he's staring wide-eyed down at her. "Oh, you're really not. Wow. Hot."

She wraps her hands around his wrists and pushes his sleeves up, trailing her fingertips along his forearms and raising goosebumps in the wake of her touch. "There, that's the best we can do," she says, and her arms wind around his neck again. "Now dance with me."

He tries to follow her lead, to match her rhythm, and it becomes easier with each passing song. To just melt into the music, and the feeling of the way their bodies move together, and the shine in her eyes every time he glances down at her. Her encouraging smile when his hands creep from her hips to the small of her back, and he feels her skin against his where her shirt has crept up, heart pounding unhealthily fast. "You're a very good dancer," he says, and she's grinning, clasping her arms tighter around his neck and lifting herself onto her tiptoes.

"I can only be as good as my partner," she whispers, her breath warm against his ear, and he shivers involuntarily. She moves back again, still so close, and he finds his gaze falling to her lips, and then finding her eyes. Her pupils are blown wide and dark, her breath hitching, and he instinctively tucks a strand of her wig behind her ear, feeling the way she tries to turn her head into his palm. Aching to kiss her. Beginning to dip his head on sheer instinct, feeling the warmth of her breath rush against his lips.

"Get  _off_  my sister!" There's a rough hand yanking him back, away from Wanda, and Pietro is glaring at him, fake round glasses askew and fury in his eyes. "What the  _fuck_  do you think you're doing?!"

"We're just dancing!" Wanda snaps, and Pietro rounds on her, seizing her arm. "You're  _hurting_  me!"

"We need to have a talk, baby sister," Pietro snarls, and tugs her out of the door into the garden.

Vision starts to follow them instinctively, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stops him, and he finds Crystal behind him, a wine stain on the collar of her white shirt and her mouth in a hard line of resignation. "You gotta just let it happen," she says, shaking her head. "They have to scream at each other to get it out of their systems."

"Why does he have to be so mean to her?" he asks, anger roiling in his gut, and she just shrugs. "How...I just wonder how you can date him when he treats his sister like that."

"He would  _never_  act like that with me, if that's what you think," Crystal says, and it feels an oddly serious conversation to have in a room booming with music. "I'd kick him to the kerb before he could. I think...he's not as tough as he pretends to be. He's been the most important guy in Wanda's life for so long, then you come along and he...well, he's pretty damn insecure. He can't handle being replaced."

"But he doesn't have to treat her like that because of how he feels," Vision snaps, rage surging in his chest. Seeing Wanda pushed away from him, how upset she was, the slight fear in her eyes, it all meshes together in his mind to make him feel the first shadowy twinge of something like hatred for Pietro.

She pulls him out of the room, into the much more brightly-lit hallway, and he sees her smudged make-up and the genuine concern in her eyes. "Don't go gossiping about this, okay? It's between them, and us, as their partners. Pietro has some...anger issues. He's trying really hard, but something about the possibility of losing Wanda is breaking him. He already knows they're not gonna go to the same college. She's pulling away, and there's nothing he can do about it."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Vision asks, and he can't help but enjoy being able to include himself. To feel like a part of something.

"Just...be there for them," she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. "One of them always ends up in tears after these fights. If it's her - and it usually is - you can look after her and I'll get him away from the party. Take her home, or to the diner, or  _something_. Don't leave her alone."

There's a loud crash, and Pietro stalks past them and straight up the stairs, past a wide-eyed Mantis in a butterfly costume deep in earnest conversation with Bruce, and Crystal gives Vision a pointed look before she rushes after her boyfriend. He pushes through the people still looking and whispering, out into the chill of the night, and finds Wanda slumped on the grass alone, her wig in a tangled pile net to her and her head buried in her hands. "Wanda?" he asks softly, and then, even softer, "Darling?"

She looks up at him with tear-filled eyes, her make-up smudged beyond repair and streaking black down her face, and he immediately leans down to wrap his arms around her, turning her head into his shoulder to muffle her sobbing. "It's alright," he breathes, stroking her hair reassuringly, her fingers digging into his back she's holding onto him so tightly. "Please don't cry."

"Why does he keep  _yelling_  at me?" she sobs into the air, and he just holds her, shushing her softly. "I  _like_  you. I wanna date you, and it's none of his fucking business what we have and haven't done. He has  _no right_  to treat you like that."

"He loves you," he says, and she snorts through her tears. "He's your brother, and he cares about you. Maybe he's going about it wrong, but maybe he think what he's doing is for your best interests."

"If he  _actually_  cared he wouldn't demand I dumped you," she says miserably. "He just can't handle not being my number one guy anymore. Stupid fucking insecure idiot. He has a girlfriend to pander to him, it's not my  _job_."

"It's alright," he says automatically, and aches for her when she dissolves into further tears. "Do you want to leave?" He feels her nodding where her head is pressed into his chest, and carefully works his phone out of his pocket, calling the cab company number he saved and ordering a ride for them.

They wait out the front of the house, the people who were previously draped over the stairs vanished into the party. He sends messages to Tony and Bruce to let them know where he went, and holds Wanda close, clasping her cold hands between his to warm them up. "I don't wanna go home," she says in a small voice, and he looks at her tear-streaked face.

"You can come with me," he says, and her eyes light up. "I don't want you to be alone, you're upset and you've had a lot to drink. I made a loaf of bread yesterday, we can have some toast and get you some water and go to bed."

"You're such a sweet guy," she says, her face crumpling into tears again, and he lifts a hand to wipe away a falling tear, smudging his thumb black with her eyeliner. She folds herself into his side, so small and sad, and he just holds her closer. Feeling protective. Feeling the sort of things a real boyfriend would feel.

She barely moves away from him in the cab, as close as the seatbelt will allow, and he stays holding her hand even when he's scrabbling around for change to pay the driver, opening her door for her and putting a steadying arm around her when she stumbles. He unlocks the door as quietly as he can, and closes the kitchen door before he flicks the light on, cutting them both bread and slotting the slices into the toaster, filling two glasses of water and sitting her down at the table. Seeing her in bright light, her face a wreck of tearstains and streaked mascara and eyeliner, he feels a visceral surge of hatred for Pietro. For making someone so sweet and bright cry.

He doesn't try to break the silence while they eat, and he watches Wanda miserably picking at her toast, and reaches across the table to take her hand. "If you want to...we can end this," he says, and she looks up at him, wide-eyed. "If it's affecting your relationship with your brother...I don't want to get in the way of family."

"Are you ready to come out?" she asks, and he shakes his head. "Then we're not ending it. Sam isn't subtle, he's only stayed quiet about the love letter because he thinks you're my boyfriend. I don't want you outed, so I'm not walking away. I'm staying with you."

He smiles, and darts across the table to kiss her cheek before he loses his nerve. And she's finally smiling, taking a piece of kitchen roll to clean up some of the stains on her face while he clears their plates and glasses away, and takes her hand to guide her up the stairs to his room. "I have face wipes," he says, turning on the warm glow of his nightstand lamp and throwing them to her. "Do you want to borrow some pyjamas?"

"That would be nice," she says, and he throws her a plaid pair, dark grey and black, and goes to the bathroom to change. Trying not to think about how Wanda is wearing his clothes, in his bedroom, and how not that long ago she was pressing her hips against his and swaying. Whispering in his ear. Telling him he looked  _hot_.

Wanda is cross-legged on the bed braiding her hair when he returns to her, folding his worn clothes and shoving them into his laundry basket. "So...you'll sleep in the bed, and I'll sleep on the floor," he says, pulling the drawer out from beneath his bed to pull out a few blankets and make himself a makeshift bed on the pale blue rug spread out at the foot of his bed.

"Don't be silly, there's so much room, we can share!" she says, and he shakes his head. " _Vizh_..."

"You are upset, and you're taking the bed," he says. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable because we're sharing. I'm perfectly fine on the floor."

He arranges the blankets carefully and crawls between them, delighted that it's perfectly comfortable. Wanda sighs heavily, but turns off the light. He hears the rustling of her presumably getting herself comfortable, and then there's a hand on his back, and he turns his head to look at her in the gloom. "Wanda-"

"If you won't share the bed, then we'll share the floor, no big deal," she says. "I'll feel bad if I get the comfy spot and you're sore tomorrow."

"Wanda-"

" _What_?" she asks, rolling her eyes. "What's the worst that can happen? You wake up with a boner? It's natural, you don't have to be embarrassed. I won't even look, I promise."

" _Wanda_!" he whispers, scandalised, and she grins. "Go back to bed."

"I will if you come with me," she says, and then pouts at him. "I'm cold, and I'm sad, and I want to be near someone. Please?"

He sighs heavily, but unfolds himself from his makeshift bed, and the way she smiles makes it worth it. Easier to shake off the possibility of something happening and just get into the bed, smiling when she curls up to him, her head on his chest. "Are you sure this is okay?" he asks, and feels her nodding. "Really?"

"I just wanna be close to someone," she says around a yawn. "And you're the sweetest person I know. Just hold me."

And he does. Until her breathing evens out and she's asleep, making soft snuffling noises. And he's smiling down at her, running his fingers through her hair as he drifts.

* * *

Vision wakes out of a dream, following the shadow of a beautiful young woman through the woods behind the palace, her always just tantalisingly out of reach, and forgets for a moment where he is. What the warm weight on his chest is. Then Wanda's fingers dig into his skin where her hand is resting lightly over his hip, and she makes a soft sound in her sleep and he smiles. Loses himself for a moment in gazing at her, her lashes dark against her pale skin, how peaceful she looks when she's sleeping, her face smooth and unconcerned.

There's a soft knock on the door, and then it's sliding open, and Helen is saying, "Sweetheart, I'm making French toast, do you- oh. Excuse me."

Wanda shifts in her sleep, and lifts her head from Vision's chest, and he notices that there are slight indentations on her cheek from the buttons of his pyjama shirt pressing into her skin, and Helen's gaze is flickering between them in surprise. "Oh, good morning, Doctor Cho," Wanda says, stretching in a way that pushes her body against Vision's beneath the blankets and makes heat rise up his neck.

"Good morning," Helen says, something sharp and meaningful in her voice. "Vision, I need some help with the cooking. Could you make yourself decent and come downstairs?"

"Yes," he says, a chill shivering down his spine at the flicker of anger in Helen's eyes, and sits up, Wanda following him, her hand curving gently over his shoulder in concern. "Um...Wanda, you can look through my closet. There might be something you can borrow."

"I'll try not to lay claim to all of your clothes," she says, and he smiles helplessly, almost able to forget Helen standing in the doorway, icily silent. "You should change, babe."

"Right," he says, and Helen slides the door shut with a soft click that still seems to echo around the room. He tries to busy himself choosing clothes, worn jeans and a baggy pale pink jumper, and Wanda is stretching, her back audibly cracking, and smoothing her fingers through the knots in her hair.

"I normally braid it before I sleep," she explains as she unravels a stubborn tangle. "Silly me, I forgot."

"I could braid it," he says automatically, and she gives him a smile across the room. "I...um...I used to play with Helen's hair. When I was little."

"You were such a cute kid," she says, grimacing when she tugs too hard. "How are you feeling? I didn't see you drink much."

"I don't really drink," he says with a slight shrug, hoping she won't ask why. It's something too big and too sad to discuss so early in the morning, when he's still warm and happy from sleeping next to someone. "How are you feeling?"

"Shockingly, not that bad," she says, and he smiles slightly. "The glass of water before bed really makes a difference." She crosses the room to him, the too-long pyjamas dragging on the floor, and lifts herself onto her tiptoes to hook her chin over his shoulder, her arms around him. In the mirror, they look like a couple, and it makes his breath catch. "Thank you for letting me stay here. I didn't want to be alone."

"Of course," he says softly, and she reaches to kiss his cheek, making him flush slightly. "Oh, if...if you want to take a shower, you can. There's a spare toothbrush in the cabinet, and you can use anything you want. My skincare in in the wash bag with birds on it."

"I'll be quick, wouldn't wanna use up all your hot water," she says, and he waits for the lock to click shut behind her before he quickly changes, runs a comb through his unruly hair and leaves his bedroom for the kitchen, his stomach sinking with each step down the stairs.

Helen is leaning against the kitchen counter with her mug of tea in her hands, cardigan wound around her and slippers on her feet, and when he immediately drops his head at the look in her eyes, shame-faced. "Vision...why is Wanda, your  _girlfriend_ , in your bed?" she asks, and he scuffs his foot along the ground, not wanting to look her in the eyes. " _Victor_?"

He starts at the use of his full name, no nickname to be found, and the coldness in Helen's eyes, and he's flushing and stuttering and getting choked up trying to explain, "Well...I...sh-sh-she got in a fight with her brother last night, she didn't want to be alone, and she'd had a lot to d-d-drink and I didn't think it was safe to leave her alone so I-I-I just wanted to make sure she was alright. I was tr-tr-trying to be responsible!"

"Do you think that bringing your girlfriend into my house without telling me is responsible?" she asks, and he shakes his head mournfully, eyes prickling with unshed tears. He's never disappointed Helen before.  _Never_. "Even if you had decided to bring her here, why was she in your bed?"

"I didn't want to wake you up making up a bed on the couch," he mumbles, drawing circles on the tiles with his foot. "I was going to sleep on the floor but...she...she was cold and upset and she wanted someone to hold her. I-I-I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"I want to trust you, Vision," Helen says, her arms folded, and he hangs his head in shame. "But you can't just bring someone into the house. Especially not your girlfriend. I don't ever want to find her in your room without the door open again, do you understand?"

"Yes," he says, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. "I'm  _so_  sorry, I won't do it again. Please don't be angry."

"I'm not angry, Vision," she says. "I'm just disappointed." And somehow that hurts worse, a leaden weight in his chest, the first time he's ever heard Helen speak to him in such a dispassionate way. "You've always been my angel of a son. I don't want you sneaking around with your girlfriend under my nose."

"I'm  _sorry_ ," he whispers, horrifyingly close to tears, and then Helen is hooking a gentle finger beneath his chin and lifting his head. "I'm really,  _really_  sorry."

"Just...tell me next time," she says, and he nods frantically. "You could've woken me up and I would've helped make up a bed. Will you tell me next time she needs a place to stay?"

"I promise," he says, and she gives him a small, proud smile. One that helps him blink away the tears in his eyes and steady his breathing again.

But she's still frowning at him, her eyes searching his face for an answer he doesn't think is there. "Are you being safe, sweetheart?" she asks, and he gazes at her blankly. "Safe sex, Vision. Are you using protection?"

" _Oh_ ," he breathes, immediately blushing so brightly he can feel the heat radiating from his face, shaking his head slightly to try and rid his mind of the immediate tangent it wanders down, imagining his hands tracing along the soft, pale skin of Wanda's stomach. "N-n-no, we're not...we're not doing  _that_ , a-a-a-all we did was  _cuddle_ , we-"

"You don't have to lie about it, sweetheart, you're seventeen, it's natural to want to," Helen says, and he's blushing even worse, mouthing wordlessly. "But you have to be safe about it. Do you want me to pick you up some condoms?" Then she tucks her hair behind her ear and says, "And even if...if anything happens, I'll support both of you no matter what choice you make."

"Helen, we're  _not_  having sex!" he says. Perhaps a little too loudly, and he winces and hopes Wanda can't hear him. "We've never done more than  _kissing_."

"It's still important to remember it only takes one time," she says solemnly. "Pulling out is not protection. Trust me, Vision, I had more than one pregnancy scare in college. You just make a mistake because you're overeager then you end up waiting for an hour to get emergency contraception-"

" _Helen_!" he groans, and she grins when he buries his burning face in his hands. "We're not doing anything. I just wanted to give her somewhere safe and away from her brother to sleep."

"Well, sweetheart, if you need condoms, you can always come to me," she says, and he nods, desperate for the conversation to be over. "Now, can you pull the strawberries out and start chopping them? I need to make extra since we have a guest this morning."

When Wanda joins them, Vision almost spills the entire carton of apple juice he's pouring all over the table. Because her hair is wet and braided and leaving dark damp patches on her sweater.  _His_  sweater, the navy one he doesn't wear often enough, repurposed into a dress with the belt from her costume wrapped around her waist, and her legs bare. It leaves him utterly breathless, seeing her looking so pretty. Sniffing the air appreciatively and saying, "Smells amazing, Doctor Cho."

"Oh, honey, please call me Helen," she says, and Wanda looks momentarily hesitant, bashful, a flush spilling over her cheeks.

"I want to apologise for being here," Wanda says, twisting her braid around her finger. "Vision was just being kind because I was upset. I hope you're not too mad about me staying over."

"Our house is always open to you if you need somewhere," Helen says, giving Wanda the warm, maternal sort of smile Vision is so familiar with. "Just with notice next time, okay, you two? I know you're hopelessly crazy about each other, but there have to be boundaries as long as you're both under eighteen."

"I'm sure Vizh already reassured you all we did was cuddle," Wanda says, and Vision flushes, staring resolutely down at his plate. "You've raised a very sweet, respectful guy, Doctor Cho."

"I like to think so," Helen says, and crosses the room to set the stack of French toast in the centre of the table, and Vision starts to eat quickly, despite his stomach being in embarrassed knots and the way his mind keeps wandering, his gaze falling to Wanda's legs stretched out in front of her, her feet idly swinging. Imagining those same slim, pale legs tangled with his, the warm weight of her on top of him, of her moving like it's dancing and her lips against his.

And when he says goodbye to her, she lifts onto her tiptoes when she hugs him and whispers, "I like cuddling you," before she kisses his cheek and smiles into his eyes before she turns away. He's left on the doorstep, blushing violently.

* * *

Helen smooths down the shoulders of Vision's blazer yet again, and he bats her away, saying, " _Helen_ , it's just dinner!"

"But it's your first dinner with Wanda's parents!" Helen says, and there's so much pride shining in her eyes the guilt for lying to her comes flooding back full force. "You should look your best. You're the type of boy any parent would be lucky to have their daughter bring home."

He adjusts his blazer again, a pale grey with a subtle check that matches his slacks, and gives a tug on his pale green shirt, trying to smooth the collar. Tugging at his silvery-grey bowtie to perfect the knot, and giving his hair another comb through, trying to make it look the way it did on the first day of school. The day Wanda complimented him. It seems so long ago now, after all the time they've spent together, pretending to date. It's become so easy to pretend, to take her hand and put an arm around her and kiss her cheek. He calls her darling without even having to think about it, without stammering or blushing, and when she smiles into his eyes and calls him that soft Sokovian endearment it buzzes pleasantly through his blood, warming him to the tips of his fingers and toes.

Sometimes he catches himself admiring her for slightly too long and has to remind himself that it isn't real. If he decided, right this minute, that he was ready to come out, he could end it. And she could do the same.

He's not sure why that makes him so sad.

"Your hair looks lovely, sweetheart, stop fidgeting with it!" Helen admonishes, startling him out of contemplation, and he sets the comb down and fusses with himself again. Wondering if he looks too tired, even though he's done his best to get a full eight hours every night since Wanda announced that her parents wanted him to have dinner with them. Or if this outfit is really the right choice, or he should change to something less formal. " _You_  look lovely. Don't get yourself worked up."

"I'm nervous," he says quietly, tugging at his blazer again, and Helen turns him around and plants her hands on his shoulders, looking up earnestly into his eyes.

"You have nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart," she says. "You are a kind, intelligent, compassionate, handsome, wonderful young man. Anyone should be grateful for their child to choose to date you. You have no reason to be nervous. Just be yourself, and they'll love you."

"Right," he says softly. " _Myself_." And, just for a moment, he wonders on who himself really is. He's never wholly himself except alone, in the privacy of his own mind, where all his secrets hide. And yet, those are secrets that Wanda knows. Perhaps he  _does_  have someone to be wholly himself with.

Helen grabs her car keys, still talking nineteen to the dozen about how proud she is, how happy she is that he is happy, and he spends the journey to Wanda's house gazing out of the window, thinking. Dreaming about the young, trapped prince journeying to meet his secret lover, and that image flickers back and forth between the handsome dark-eyed man and the beautiful green-eyed woman. Then stalls and pauses on the green-eyed woman, her dark hair spilling free over bare shoulders, her lips curving in a sweetly tempting smile, and the fantasy shatters when the car shudders to a halt.

"Have a good time, sweetheart," Helen says, blowing him a kiss. "Call if you need a ride home." She blows another few kisses before she drives away, and Vision takes a deep, steadying breath before he walks up to the door and knocks.

It immediately opens to Wanda's bright face, and she's smiling, and he glances down at her beautiful dark red dress, the hem swirling an inch or so above her knees, her eyes bewitchingly green beneath dark sweeps of eyeliner, and she's darting up to kiss his cheek. "I was starting to think you might bail," she says, and he flushes. "You were  _so_ nervous."

"I want to meet your parents," he says, and she grins and laces their fingers together to tug him alone the hallway and into the dining room. The walls are painted a pale dove-grey and hung with colourful art that his eyes stray to appreciatively, and Pietro is already sitting sulkily at the table, a glass of wine in front of him.

Wanda's father is at the head of the table, and he's standing to shake Vision's hand. He's shorter than him, but imposing, with unnervingly observant brown eyes and grey scattered through his dark hair. "We've heard so much about you, Victor," he says. "I'm Gregory Eastwick, but you can feel comfortable to call me Greg. Pamela will be out in a minute, she's just finishing off dessert. Sit down, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you a drink?"

"Just water," Vision says, and tries not to blush too hard when Wanda shifts her seat closer to his, laying her head on his shoulder and tucking her foot neatly over his beneath the table.

Pamela Eastwick is a small woman with her blonde hair secured in a neat bun, and she smiles warmly at Vision and shakes his hand, glancing slyly between him and Wanda before saying, "You two look so sweet together. Remind me how long you've been together?"

"Oh gosh...almost two months," Wanda says, lacing her fingers through Vision's, and he nods wordlessly. Pamela smiles between them, and when the food is all arranged out on the table and he's patiently waiting for the mashed potatoes to reach him he tries to feel more comfortable. Just because Pietro is glowering at him doesn't mean he has to hide himself away.

"So, Victor," Greg says, pouring himself another glass of wine, "how did you and Wanda meet?"

"Well, I...I moved here from England when I was twelve, and we had the same gym period," he says, and Wanda nods encouragingly, her eyes bright. "I suppose I noticed her immediately. Her eyes."

"Aw, I noticed you too, babe," she says sweetly, kissing his cheek and making a flush creep up the back of his neck, even as a pleased smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.

"First thing I noticed about Pamela when we met was her eyes," Greg says, smiling at his wife across the table, and Vision just nods. "Why on Earth did it take so long for you two to get together?"

"You know how high school can be," Wanda says lightly. "I was scared he'd reject me. Lucky for me, he didn't." She curls further into his side, affection in every inch of her face, and he wills himself not to blush, tremulously returning her sweet smile.

"What do you plan on doing after high school, Victor?" Pamela asks, helping herself to another spoonful of peas. "Pietro already has sports scholarship offers for track, don't you?"

"Yeah," Pietro says monotonously, and Vision catches a glimpse of Wanda rolling her eyes and swallows a smirk.

"I think I'm leaning towards History," he answers, and both Wanda's parents nod in seeming satisfaction. "But I'm also fascinated with Computer Science, or perhaps Art."

"Wanda wants to go into Psychology," Greg says proudly, and Wanda nods, her hand still resting on Vision's arm. "Never got to grips with the subject myself, but we always need more people who can help out those who struggle to help themselves."

"Where have you considered attending?" Pamela asks probingly, and Wanda rolls her eyes.

"You promised you wouldn't quiz him," she says, and Pamela holds her hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"It's okay, darling," Vision says, squeezing Wanda's hand. "As long as I can stay in New York, to be close to my mother, I'll be happy."

"Oh, you're adopted too, aren't you?" Pamela asks, and he nods hesitantly. "We should get to know your mother, exchange notes. Adoption is such funny business. We had so much paperwork to get these two."

"Can I be excused?" Pietro asks. "I have homework to do, and I need to call Crystal."

He disappears as soon as he's given permission, and Vision stands to try and help with the plates, stacking them over Greg and Pamela's feeble protests, and going into the kitchen gives him a moment alone. To steady himself from all the discussion of his fast-approaching future, and the way Wanda has been snuggling up to him all night. It feels too real, too much like they're actually a couple, the lines between reality and fantasy blurring.

"Hey," comes the breath, and Wanda is carrying two empty wine bottles into the room, setting them down on an empty counter and coming to stand beside him, her hand curving over his shoulder. "You're doing good in there. They were just like this with Crystal, and you're holding up pretty good."

"They're very...enthusiastic," he says weakly, and she laughs softly, draping herself into his side.

"They couldn't have their own kids, we're all they've got," she says, and his chest twinges with sadness for the couple. "They just want us to do our best and be happy. The rest of it is just smoke and mirrors." She gives him a conspiratorial look and says, "Truthfully, I prefer Helen. Greg and Pamela would never be fine with you sleeping in my room or Crystal sleeping in Pietro's."

"Well, actually...she wasn't fine with it," he confesses, and she tilts her head quizzically at him. "She...well, she sort of scolded me for having you stay over without telling her. Particularly you sleeping in my bed. She...um, she wasn't happy."

"Oh...well, I was too polite to mention that I heard you two shouting about it," Wanda says, and he flushes. "I didn't mean to drive a wedge between you and her. It was very sweet of you to let me stay over."

"She doesn't really mind the thought of you staying over," he says. "It was just her...f-finding us in bed together. She thought that we...um...that we...we were-"

"What?" she asks, blinking her bright eyes up at him, and he swallows thickly.

"She thought that we  _slept_  together," he whispers, and her eyes widen. "Which is ridiculous, isn't it? All we did was sleep."

"Well, it's a natural assumption," she says, and he wills himself not to blush any deeper at the thought. "We'd been out to a party and I was in your bed. Most parents would assume  _something_  happened."

"But it's ridiculous," he says. "As if someone like you would  _ever_  want...want to do... _that_...with someone like me." He ducks his head for a moment, sadness swelling in his chest, and then her finger is lifting his chin up and she's blinking up at him in confusion. "Well, you're... _you_. You're pretty and popular and confidence, and I'm...not. Any of those things."

"You know this is a defense mechanism, Vizh," she says, and her hand is cupped to his cheek, and there's such open sincerity in her eyes that he's finding it hard to breathe. "My popularity won't matter past high school. You just need to work on your confidence a little. And believe me, you're  _so_  handsome. I don't know how people haven't been falling over themselves to ask you out since you first moved here. Before you had your growth spurt and you were so small and skinny and shy." She smiles softly at him, shifting slightly closer.

"I'm afraid I just don't see myself that way," he says, and she shakes her head, biting at her lip in a stunningly attractive way. "What do you even think people could like about me?"

"I can only speak for myself," she says, tracing her fingertips along his cheek and making him suppress a shiver. "But  _I_  like your hair. I like your eyes. I like your glasses and how you look mature in them. I like how tall you are. I like that you give amazing hugs and you always smell like clean clothes. You're good-looking, Vizh. And more importantly, you're  _sweet_."

Their eyes meet, and his begin to fall closed, completely on instinct, the breath rushing out of him in a stutter. Her hands are cupping his face, and he can feel the movement of her rising onto her tiptoes, the way her fingers curl tighter against his skin, and he's aching for her to touch him, to feel her close, for this to be a moment like the movies.

The door is aggressively slammed, and he jolts backwards, and finds Pietro staring sourly at them, wielding a heavy knife. "I'm just getting a slice of cake," he says, far too loudly, and Wanda is pursing her lips. "I wouldn't make out in here. Wouldn't want Pam and Greg realising their darling daughter's chivalrous boyfriend is defiling her in the kitchen."

"Oh screw  _off_ , Pietro," Wanda snaps. But even when he does, slamming the door behind him, the spell is broken. There's no more chance that Wanda is going to kiss him.

And it takes an enormous amount of willpower to not let the disappointment splash visibly across his face.


	4. play me like a love song

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay in this chapter, life got hectic! And yes, I changed the chapter count again, hopefully this one is the one that sticks!

 **Chapter warnings:** homophobic language, unconsented sharing of a video of a private intimate moment

* * *

The air is buzzing with the anticipation for the ski trip, and every thought of it is making anxiety unfurl its sharp wings in Vision's chest. Everyone around him is casually discussing what they're going to wear, what they're going to do, the possibility of sneaking around under the chaperones' noses in order to swap rooms and enact the ski trip staple of people losing their virginity while away from home. In the mountains, covered in thick sweeps of snow, with the starlight silvering the horizon. It does sound like somewhere romantic. Straight out of a storybook.

"I've been weighing my suitcase constantly, and it's  _still_  over weight limit," Crystal says with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "I just don't understand why we have to tailor our packing. We're taking a bus, not a plane."

"You might be able to sneak a few extra things in there, as long as your suitcase isn't, like, bulging," Natasha says, reaching across their table to swipe another packet of sugar. They're all crammed into the corner of a café, sprawled across the sofas in what will be the last time they all have time to be together before the ski trip, and Vision is still overwhelmed to be among them. To have Wanda pressed against his side, softly blowing steam away from the surface of her mug of tea. To be a part of it all.

"Ugh, I hope so, I need  _options_ ," Crystal says, stretching her legs out in front of her. "It's bad enough that there isn't room for us to bring our own equipment. I'll have to get used to a whole different set of skis."

"I'm excited!" Mantis pipes up, and Nebula is giving a small smile into her cup of coffee. The more he's around them, the more Vision notices the little darting glances between Mantis and Nebula, the way Natasha and Wanda and Sam all smirk at each other whenever they do it. Maybe their year is only one well-timed confession away from having its first openly gay couple. Maybe that will pave the way for acceptance of more people coming out. "I've only skied on artificial slopes before, never real snow!"

"You'll love it," Wanda says, smiling at Mantis, and Vision can't help the gratitude that surges warm in his chest. Wanda is so much more than the popular, pretty girl he first had a crush on. She's so kind to people like him, and like Mantis, people who wear loneliness like a badge and just need someone to reach out. And her hand is curving over his thigh again, a gentle, warm weight, and making him blush. "Have you skied before, babe?"

"Not...um, not really," he says hesitantly, and feels the absurd urge to hang his head in shame. Amongst this group, never having learned to ski feels like something to be ashamed of. "I was always...scared, I suppose. I heard too many stories about people getting hurt doing it."

"Oh, what a shame you never learned!" Pietro says, although there's a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You'll have to stick to the beginner slopes. Maybe the children's slopes?"

"I'll teach you," Wanda says brightly, squeezing his thigh and smiling up at him. "It's not scary once you get used to it. Nothing like skiing down a mountain with the wind in your face and a hot drink waiting at the bottom. The ski lodge makes the best hot chocolate you'll ever taste."

"Especially if you get them to add a little nip of something extra," Sam says with a conspiratorial wink, and Wanda rolls her eyes. "Don't give me that attitude, Maximoff, I remember you last year. Drinking away your sorrows that you got beaten down the black diamond."

"I was only beaten because I had to change course to avoid hitting a tree," she says sourly, and Sam laughs. She glances up at Vision from beneath her lashes and asks, "Do you want a refill, babe?"

"Can you get it to take away?" he asks, and she nods. "I need to get home and finish packing."

"I'll come help you," she says, and he smiles helplessly when she kisses his cheek and stands, smoothing her skirt over her hips before she goes to join the long queue of beleaguered Christmas shoppers.

He stands up and collects their things, shrugging back into his denim jacket, the latest embroidery project he's just finished, stitching pale yellow primroses and their emerald green stems over the sleeves and into an intricate floral design across the back. Wanda's eyes lit up when she saw him in it, and over his soft white jumper he likes the look. He feels confident in it, and no one has even glanced oddly at him. All he's had is compliments, held warm and glowing in his heart.

While he's waiting at the door, watching Wanda talking to the cashier, affection warming him when she corrects the angle of her beanie and smiles, Pietro detaches from the group sprawled in the corner and crosses the café to him. "I get you now," she says, and Vision just blinks at him in confusion. "I  _understand_. So you can stop pretending."

"What?" he asks, trying to sound nonchalant and nonplussed even though a terrible cold is gripping him. How does Pietro know? Has he seen something? Has someone noticed they're faking it and told him? Does he know that Wanda isn't straight? Is he going to dare to be cruel to his sister?

"I know Wanda isn't really your girlfriend," he says with a slight shrug, and panic grips Vision so strongly he can't  _breathe_  for a moment. "She's your beard, right? You're gay."

"I...no...why would you even  _think_  that?" Vision gasps out in horror, and Pietro lets out a derisive snort.

"Come on, you showed up to school in a  _floral_  denim jacket, I'm just saying what everyone's thinking," he says, and every word is like a knife in Vision's chest, leaving him short of breath and his eyes prickling with tears that he fights desperately not to let fall. He will not cry in front of Pietro, who has tormented him for  _years_. He will  _not_. "I just really can't be okay with you using my sister like that. Does she know? Because she looks at you all sappy and infatuated, and you sticking with it just so everyone thinks you can't possibly be gay because you have a girlfriend is so unbelievably cruel. Aren't you  _proud_  of who you are? Aren't you  _born_  like that?"

"I..."

"I mean, love is love, right?" Pietro says, so casually it would be conversational if not for the cruel gleam in his eyes. "So break up with my sister, tell her you're a fag, and find someone else to play games with. She's off-limits."

He gives one last sickly-sweet smile before he turns back into the café, and Vision is left standing speechless in the doorway, hardly able to breathe. His chest hurts with the effort of not crying, the world blurred by unshed tears, and his mind is a screeching hum of panic. Every word is circling around him, bruising him, and when Wanda comes up to him with his hot chocolate in her hand he turns and starts walking before she can see his expression. "Vizh?"

No matter how she speaks, he can't turn to look at her. He just starts walking, storming along against the cold wind, pulling his jacket closer around himself and feeling the tears start to spill over, sliding warm down his cheeks. He clutches the cup of hot chocolate to his chest for a little warmth, and keeps his lips clamped shut against the sobs that want to escape, walking as fast as he can until he gets home. Hoping he's left Wanda far behind, so he doesn't have to speak to anyone. So he can just crawl under his blankets and refuse to come out, refuse to speak to anyone, stay there until long after the ski trip is over and he can avoid ever having to be in close proximity to Pietro Maximoff.

But when he gets home, dropping his satchel and racing up the stairs to his room, Wanda is just behind him, dropping her bags and storming up the stairs, pressing her hand against his door when he tries to close it. "What's wrong?" she asks, and he can't look at her, even just hearing the concern in her voice is making the sobs bubble out of him in tiny, odd squeaking noises. "Vision?"

He pulls his half-packed suitcase out from its corner, unzips the lid to flip it open and stare at the contents. Starting to methodically unpack everything, his sketchbook and his embroidery and his books, and emptying the clothes over the floor in a tangle of pastels and florals. "Vizh, what are you  _doing_?" Wanda asks, offering in the doorway, and he just shakes his head and slumps down onto the bed, staring at the wall. At the photo of him and Bruce and Tony just before senior year started. Only noticing his floppy hair, his pink shirt, his shy smile, everything that makes  _everyone_  think of him as something he's  _not_.

"I can't come on the ski trip," he says, and his voice is hitching over every word in the desperate attempt not to cry. "I  _can't_."

"What are you talking about?" she asks softly, coming to sit beside him, putting her arm around him. In a completely friendly way, because she could never be attracted to him, not when everyone is sure she's his  _beard_ , she's his way of hiding the fact that he's gay, he's just  _using_  her. "Because you can't ski? I'll teach you, we'll stick to the easy slopes, it'll be  _fine_."

"I can't," he says, the end of the words trailing into the slightest hiccup of a sob, and there's concern painted over Wanda's face, and she looks so worried for him that guilt crashes cloyingly in his chest. She shouldn't be worried about him. No one should be. He's not worth it. "Please, Wanda, please just go."

"No," she says shortly. "Not until you tell me why you're crying."

"I'm  _not_  crying," he says, the insistence ruined by the tear that spills over. Wanda reaches to smudge it away, cupping a hand to his cheek and searching his face for answers, and he breaks and miserably says, "Everyone thinks I'm  _gay_ ," before he dissolves into tears.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," she says soothingly, and her hand is rubbing his back in small circles. "Who thinks that? Who told you that? It's ridiculous anyway, everyone thinks I'm your girlfriend. They can't think you're gay."

"They  _do_ ," he insists through a sob, running distressed hands through his hair. "They think you're my beard, that I'm using you to hide, they think I'm not proud, they think-"

"Who said this?" she asks, suspicion narrowing her eyes. "Who, Vizh? Tell me and I'll have words with them."

"I can't tell you," he whispers, tugging his sleeves over his hands to dab at his eyes. "But I can't come on the ski trip. Because...everything I own, everything I  _love_  to do, it just makes people think I-I-I'm gay. What will they say if they see your boyfriend wearing pink and knitting in the lounge of the ski lodge?"

"They'll think I have an amazing boyfriend with impeccable fashion taste and interesting hobbies who'll be able to make me scarves whenever I want them," she says, as if it isn't even an issue. "Who told you all that? It's far too specific for you to be imagining it. Tell me, Vizh."

"It...it...it was..." The words keep sticking in his throat, like shards of glass, but Wanda's eyes are so green and soft and understanding that it rushes out of him. "It was Pietro."

"My...my  _brother_  said that to you?" she asks, and her voice is utterly chilling, her eyes flashing. "What did he say? Did he call you the...the f-word?" He nods miserably, and feels her hand clench into a fist against his back. "Vizh, I'm  _so_  sorry. I'm going to kill him, I really am, that's not okay, I'm so sorry. Of course you don't have to come on the ski trip if you don't want to, you don't  _ever_  have to be near that asshole."

"Please don't let me be the reason you fight with your brother," he says, blinking tear-filled eyes at her. " _Please_. It's not worth getting angry over. I'm not worth it."

"Of course you are," she snaps, so easily. Not even thinking about it. "You're my friend, I adore you, and no one should be speaking to you like that, never mind my  _brother_." She looks up at him, her angry expression softening at the edges, and softly says, "If you don't wanna come on the ski trip, I understand. But I'd really like you there, and other people would too. I'll help you pack, if you want. I'll stay right next to you the whole time so Pietro can't get near you."

"You want me there?" he asks, and she nods. "Why? I'm just making a rift between you and your brother."

"Maybe I need to stop being so attached," she says with a shrug. "He didn't care about my feelings when he started dating Crystal, why should I care about his now? You're my friend, and if he can't get used to that I don't want him around." She glances up at him from beneath her lashes and says, "Please come on the ski trip. Please."

A glance at her wide, pleading eyes, and any resolve he could hope to have crumbles. "Okay," he says, and her face breaks into a smile so stunning he momentarily can't breathe. "Will you help me?"

"Of course I will," she says, and kisses his cheek. And he's left blushing, wondering why she keeps doing that when they're alone. When there's no one to pretend for. "You're bringing that jacket, right?"

"You like it?" he asks doubtfully, and she traces the swirl of an embroidered stem down his arm and smiles.

"It's gorgeous," she says. "Could you customise something like it for me?"

" _Oh_...I can if you want," he says, and she nods eagerly. "What would you want me to do?"

"Just red, I guess," she says. "In patterns. Like...magic." He gazes at her for a moment, realising how beautiful she is. Not just pretty.  _Beautiful_.

Then she bounces off the bed to start gathering his clothes, and the spell is broken. And she's rolling up the sleeves of her grey jumper and getting to work, scrutinising the covers of the novels he tipped over the floor. "Which one's your favourite?" she asks, and he leans over to point at the cover depicting a golden-haired princess held in a tight embrace by a dark-haired man with a black mask pulled over his eyes. She taps the pink tab pasted into the side and asks, "What's this for?"

"It's to mark my favourite scene," he says softly. "It's my favourite confession of love of all time."

" _Ooh_ ," she breathes, her eyes bright, and holds the book out to him. "Will you read it to me? I wanna know what romance you dream of."

Though he gives her a doubtful look, there's eagerness shining in her eyes, and he shrugs and sits down on the bed. Shuffling back against the pillows as he flips to the right page, his breath stuttering slightly when she curls up at him, head on his chest. "Um...so this is the scene where Princess Isabella has decided that she can't keep pretending that Henry, the handsome stranger, is going to commit, and has decided she'll marry Ancel, a duke's son. And Henry has sent her a letter on the eve of her wedding."

_Her hands trembled just to hold it, to feel the warmth of his clever fingers on the page. The writing slanted, like it was written in a hurry, a heart ripped out and dashed onto the parchment. With the baleful moon peering through the window, silvering the intricate white lace of the wedding dress waiting for its blushing bride, she lit her candle and leaned over to read, her heart thundering in her chest._

' _To my darling, darling Isabella,_

_Forgive me, my sweet. I have lied to you. When we first met, when we first danced together on that wondrous, enchanted night, my heart was taken from me. You stole it, with your dainty hands and the way you smiled when you thought me to be your betrothed, and I wish you would give it back. And yet, I do not want it back. I want to be yours, because you never worried for my damaged soul. You never judged me by my past, and you made me love you with every look. You did not see me as the rest of the world does, and I wish that others would see me as you do._

_I know that I should not be doing this. I know that you are engaged to be married in the morning. But if you have chosen Ancel for fear that I do not love you, you have been lied to. And that is my fault, I know that. But you must know that I wish to spend every morning of the rest of my life with your eyes being the first thing I see when I wake._

_If you still feel the same, meet me at our place at midnight. I will wait for thirty minutes. If you do not come, then I will know that you do not love me, and I will never bother you again._

_Yours, always - Henry.'_

_With a cry of anguish, she looked to the clock ticking on her mantelpiece. Twenty to the hour of midnight. There was still time, time for her to reach Henry and tell him, tell him that she had never stopped thinking of him since the moment his eyes met hers, that Ancel was nothing more than a consolation prize for a broken heart. There was time._

_She didn't change her nightgown, or brush her hair, driven only by the knowing that Henry was waiting, that she could miss him if she didn't run. Barefoot, the wet grass staining her hem, she ran from the castle grounds, climbing over the wall with the aid of the vine Henry first shimmied down to find her. The rock scraped at her skin, the fall knocked the breath out of her, but she ran, despite her muddied white silks and her aching chest, she ran for love. The purest of all medals to race the clock for._

_When she saw him, dark hair gleaming beneath the stars, she tried to cry out for him, but her breath was stolen by running, and she could not make him hear her. Only racing up the hill to him, to her love, and when she reached him she grabbed him by the arm and he turned to her with wide eyes. Then he seemed to melt, his hands cupping to her face, and he smiled. "My darling," he whispered, and there were absurd tears in her eyes. "You truly choose me? Not your duke?"_

" _I have been distraught thinking you did not love me," she wept, and he brushed the tears away as fast as they fell. "I love you, Henry. No one but you. I want my time in this world to be spent with you."_

" _We have all time time we want, Isabella," he whispered, the shape of her name on his beautiful lips setting the world alight. "I love you." And he held her close, tangling his hand into her curls, and kissed her like he needed it, like she was all the goodness in the world, kissed her and moved his hand from her back to-_

"It gets a little...um, racy, after that," Vision says, blushing, and Wanda giggles.

"Love letters," she observes with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, and he just shrugs bashfully. "It's all very romantic. Maybe I'll borrow it from you and read the racy parts myself."

"Is is true what people say about the ski trips?" he asks, and she tilts her hand at him in confusion. "Do more people really lose their virginities on the ski trip than on homecoming and prom night combined?"

"Well, I can't speak for those probably fake statistics," she says, and he shrugs, "but I lost my virginity on last year's ski trip."

He splutters on air, chokes out, " _What_?" and she smiles, a faint blush spilling along the tops of her cheekbones. "If...if you don't mind me asking...who?"

"Do you remember Valkyrie?" she asks, and he squints at her in confusion. "She graduated last year, she was friends with Thor? Captain of the girl's hockey team?"

He remembers the voice yelling from the pitches during practice while he was walking home from talking to teachers, the dark-haired girl who used to never be seen far from Thor's side, who Bruce had the slightest crush on, and finally nods. "It was  _her_?"

"We'd been skiing together, making these silly bets about who could get to the bottom of the tracks first," Wanda says, voice softly coloured by nostalgia. "Then we were on the hardest slope, just us, and she said that if she got to the bottom first I had to kiss her. And she won. So I held up my end of the bet." She flushes, and says, "It just...sort of...happened. And I never told anyone."

"Wow," he breathes, and she looks up at him. Then he smiles slightly and gently teases, "So you lost your virginity to an older woman?"

"Oh, shut up," she says, lifting one of the decorative pillows to hit him, and he retaliates by brushing his fingers along her ticklish knees, making her squeal and kick.

"I'm honoured you told me," he finally says, and she smiles at him.

"You're kinda my best friend these days," she says. And he clings to that, keeping it warm and glowing in his heart. He is Wanda Maximoff's  _best friend_.

Maybe, if he holds on to that hard enough, it won't sting so much that she doesn't return his feelings.

* * *

Room lit by the misty orange glow of the streetlight outside, Vision moves around as silently as he can, packing the last few things into his suitcase and tugging at the zip until it finally seals closed, short of breath afterwards. He peers at himself in the mirror when his glasses are in place, tugging at his hair until it settles in place the way he wants and smoothing his jumper over and over again. Wondering if wearing the black turtleneck from Halloween was too daring, if he'll look ridiculous, if perhaps he should've just done what Sam was hinting over and stayed in pyjamas for the bus ride.

A gentle knock on the door distracts him from getting too lost in his own thoughts, and he turns to smile at Helen peering in, tying her robe tighter around her waist and blinking sleep-heavy eyes at him. "I didn't mean to wake you up," he says softly, and she just shakes her head, smothering a yawn with the back of her hand.

"I set my alarm so I could see you off," she says, and smiles at him, her gaze darting between him and his suitcase. "Have the most amazing time, sweetheart. I know you're going to have so much fun with your friends."

"But I don't know how to ski," he says, and Helen just shakes her head, a slight sleepy smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"Doesn't matter, someone will teach you," she says, and his thoughts automatically focus to Wanda. To her promising to stay by his side, no matter what. "And you get to be out in the snow with your friends and with Wanda. It's a perfectly set-up romantic atmosphere for you, sweetheart."

He blushes, and mumbles, "I'm...well, I...I-I-I'm not planning on taking advantage of the atmosphere." And yet remembering when he thought of the crackling fire and the soft leather couches and being near Sam, the tension electric in the warm air. Wondering when exactly Sam slid politely into the background of those fantasies and it became Wanda he was aching to kiss.

"Well, sweetheart, should you decide you want to take advantage," Helen says, rustling behind her back, and holds out a small paper bag to him, "this will help."

He crosses the room tentatively and reaches to take it, then peers inside at the blatant box of condoms and immediately feels his face flare violently red. " _Helen_!"

"I already found Wanda sleeping in your bed, and I assume that while away from home and parental supervision I can't just hope you'll both keep your libidos in check," Helen says, sunnily casual, and he just rolls the top of the bag down and shoves it into the depths of his suitcase, the tips of his ears hot with embarrassment. "Enjoy yourself, but be safe, sweetheart."

There's a flash of fingers of bright light outside of the window, and he pulls his curtains aside to see Wanda's car pulling up to the kerb, and jolts away, lifting his suitcase and buckling under the weight, but sure that now he can blame his flushed face on having to lift something so heavy down the stairs, instead of because his adopted mother just handed him a bag full of condoms that she seemingly expects him to use. Helen follows him down the stairs, hovering in the doorway while he watches Nebula extricate herself from the tangle of luggage and coats in the car to pop the trunk open, and he glimpses Wanda's pale face through the driver's side window and feels his heart skip in delight.

"C'mon, Vision, we gotta go!" Mantis calls through the rolled-down window, her face alive with excitement and a green bobble hat pulled low over her ears. And Vision waves to her, then turns to Helen, watching him with some strange blend of joy and sadness in her eyes, setting her lips in a hard line of resignation and misting her expression.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" she insists, a catch in her voice that almost sounds like she's about to start crying, and he nods, shifting awkwardly against the urge to just fall into her arms and never let go. It might appear childish, and that's the last thing he wants Wanda to think he is. "Don't get hurt. Take lots of pictures for me to see. And don't distract yourself from experiences because you want to call me."

"I won't," he says, and she looks up at him with tear-bright eyes, and then laughs wetly and lifts the corner of her sleeve to dab away the dampness.

"I suppose I should get used to having to say goodbye to you, now you'll be going to college so soon," she says, and he shrugs, the thought making sadness and anxiety and a strange kind of fluttering excitement spiral through him all at once. "Have the most amazing time out there, sweetheart. I expect you to come back able to teach me to ski."

"Of course," he says, and she smiles softly. "I won't even charge you for lessons."

She laughs again, a wet, choked sound, and then wraps her arms around him, holding him close, and he holds her and buries himself in her familiar sweet scent, trying to not cry himself. Not thinking about how he'll be saying goodbye to her on a far more permanent basis in September. "I love you, Vision," she says.

"I love you too," he says, and then she moves back into the warmth of the house, and he turns into the cold early morning, and the passenger seat saved, no doubt deliberately, for him. He knows that Wanda and Natasha have been ramping up their efforts to force Nebula into confessing her feelings to Mantis lately, and having them sit together in a cramped car on the way to a ski trip notorious for creating romantic unions is the first step to them becoming a couple. He certainly hasn't had the passenger seat saved for him because Wanda feels anything for him. He's forcing himself to stop thinking that before he ends up disappointed.

But when they get to the school, she holds his hand, chattering while he helps her unpack the trunk and everyone claims the right luggage. She walks in step with him, their suitcases rattling over the uneven surface of the road in a synchronised rhythm, while they cross to pack their luggage into neat stacks in the underbelly of the bus. And when they're done, she goes back to the car and carefully extracts an cardboard cup that he didn't notice from between the driver and passenger seats and holds it out to him with a sweet smile above the black and white plaid scarf wrapped tight around her neck. "I got you a hot chocolate from that place you like," she says, and he just stares at her incredulously. "And there's marshmallows and gingerbread in my bag for the bus ride. And mints, because I remember you said you sometimes get a little bit travel sick, and that's supposed to help."

"You didn't have to do that," he says softly, and she just beams up at him, gently unfolding his gloved finger to wrap them around the cup.

"I wanted to," she says softly, and darts up to kiss his cheek, leaving a pinprick of warmth like a star behind. He wills himself not to blush, even though he can feel the heat creeping up his neck, and he almost welcomes the distraction of Sam appearing out of another car, slinging a bag over his shoulder in a move that might be played in slow motion in a teen movie. Wanda follows his gaze, and then smirks slightly. "Wait 'til you see him out on the hills. He's got moves."

"I wasn't...I...I don't know if I'll be out on the hills," Vision says, and Wanda frowns at him. "I told you, I've never skied before."

"And  _I_  told  _you_ , I'll teach you," she says, linking their fingers together and making the blush threaten to overtake him again. "We won't go up too high, that's where everyone will be swooping around showing off. And if you fall or you just don't wanna be up there anymore, you've got books, the hotel has board games and puzzles, a counter for drinks, and someone who will pour just a nip of something in your drink if no one is watching. There's even a hot tub."

"But I thought we weren't allowed in the hot tub," he says, and she gives him a silky sort of smile. One that makes him understand exactly what every romance novel meant when they talked about knees turning to liquid. About melting like snow into someone's smile. About it feeling like a heart is about to pound from a chest.

"Vizh, you have so much to learn about what we get up to on the ski trip," she says, and tugs him in the direction of the bus, people already gathered around the door, loudly working out seating arrangements and slinging luggage into the hold of the belly of the bus.

Clinging to Wanda's hand in the chaotic confusion, Vision catches a glimpse of dark curls in the crowd and calls out, "Bruce?" His friend's head whips around, and Bruce gives him an exhausted smile, pushing through the crowd to get to his side. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming?"

"I wasn't, but Tony broke his thumb in his dad's workshop and as punishment for going in there his parents banned him from coming," Bruce says, and Vision can only let out a hopeless sigh at the ridiculousness of his friend. "But the place was already paid for, so Howard called my mom, and here I am."

"Banner, darling, I'm so happy to see you joining us!" Sam calls, much too loudly for the early hour, and slings an arm around Bruce's shoulders. "Tell me, Bruce, do you have a seating partner? Because I, unfortunately, already offered to share a seat with our good friend Thor, and Natasha finds herself without someone to share with."

"I thought we could test each other on French," Natasha says, waving the French-English dictionary in her hand, and Vision marvels momentarily at the fact that Bruce isn't even blushing. "I know verb conjugations get you down." She smiles slightly, lighting up her eyes, and says, "And if we get bored, I've got every episode of  _Black Mirror_  downloaded to my tablet."

"Sounds great," Bruce says, and Sam gives the pair a proud look as they climb onto the bus together.

"You are so unsubtle, Wilson," Wanda says, rolling her eyes, and Sam spreads his arms wide in a gesture of surrender.

"Just because my high school sweetheart went to a terrible place called  _London_  and took my heart with her doesn't mean I don't want my friends to have their high school love stories," he says, and despite the flippant tone Vision can hear the faintest trace of hurt in his voice. "And speaking of high school love stories, did you manage to get anything going between Nebs and Mantis this morning?"

"Perhaps you should be patient, Sam, people don't confess their love overnight," Wanda says, and then tilts her head in consideration. "But I did suggest to Nebula that maybe writing down how she feels would make it easier to say it out loud."

"A love letter?" Sam asks, and Vision trembles for a moment. Wondering if everything is about to implode in the silvery morning light, his life collapsing completely. But Sam just claps his hands together and says, "You are a  _genius_ , Wanda! It's a little old-fashioned, of course, but writing things down always helps. Nebs has liked the girl for so long, she'll have a lot of pent-up angst to get out. Perhaps I'll find her and suggest writing it in verse."

"You're an idiot," Wanda says, and clasps Vision's hand tighter in hers to pull him onto the bus.

"Not verse? How about iambic pentameter? Or a limerick? Ooh, a  _haiku_?"

Vision chuckles softly, and Wanda gives a remonstrative tug on his hand. "Don't encourage him." She tugs him towards the back of the bus, finding a seat for them and setting her bag down, and he follows her nervously, gaze darting around, his stomach dropping when he catches sight of Pietro, holding court at the front of the bus while Crystal is already reading, tangling a strand of hair around her finger.

The bus ride is long, the weak winter sunlight dappling through the windows, and Vision spends a lot of it gazing out of the windows, caught up in a daydream of what this weekend might be. Snow on the hills, stars in the sky, and Wanda's hand in his. Thinking of the scene in  _The Ice Princess_ , the moment when Tómas showed Evangeline how to make snow angels, the first kiss that melted the cursed princess' frozen heart. Feeling himself flushing at the thought of cold lips and hot hands, and shifting in his seat.

Wanda's hand covers his gently, and she asks, "Want a mint?" He gives a silent nod, and nestles down in his chair, legs cramped up against the back of the seat in front, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath. Almost squeaking in shock when Wanda nestles her head into the crook of his neck, and lets out a soft sigh. "You're warm."

"Thank you," he says, and she giggles, nestling further into him. He stares resolutely out of the window, not thinking about the way her hand is resting gently on his knee, until he glances over and sees her asleep, dark hair striping her face and her chest gently rising and falling. Watching her eyelids flicker like she's dreaming behind them, and wondering what she dreams of. Hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, it could be him.

The ski lodge they're staying in is nestled amongst glowing mountains, pink and gold under the setting sun, and Vision loses his breath for a moment looking at them. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Wanda asks softly, linking their hands together, and when he looks down at she smiles. "I love it here."

Dragging everyone's luggage up to the lodge takes so long night has fallen fully before they make it, and the chaperones have left for the staff quarters, Ms. Hill mumbling under her breath about whiskey. "Alright!" Sam calls, climbing up onto an armchair, and Vision stifles a grin at the bobble hat he's already donned, striped red and white, the bobble half the size of his head. "I have here the room assignments. And I am delighted to reveal that my roommate will be the great Peter Quill!"

"Drop the act, Wilson," Nebula says, rolling her eyes extensively, and grabs the envelope from his hand, shaking the list into her hand. "Gamora, we're sharing!"

To his relief, Vision is sharing a room with Bruce in the boys' half of the lodge, and drags his suitcase into their room, admiring the decor. The lamps cast a perfect golden glow, the wood panelling gleams, and the artwork hung on the walls is all done in whites and icy blues, the colour of the snow. Bruce only lingers in the room for a moment, then goes downstairs to rejoin with the group, so Vision takes his yellowing, well-thumbed copy of  _The Sea Suitor_  into the bathroom and runs a bubble bath, sinking into the warm water and drifting away into a daydream of being a young, proper merchant on his first solo voyage, captured and seduced by a wanton pirate maiden.

* * *

"And you're sure this is safe?" Vision asks, staring down at the long, smooth wash of sparkling white. "Really sure?"

"Yes, it's safe!" Wanda says, dark hair tucked away under her fur-edged hood, her nose pink from the cold wind whipping up the mountains. She looks so effortlessly pretty in her ski gear, coordinated black edged with beige fur, and Vision feels so self-conscious in his borrowed gear, navy with a bright yellow stripe at the side, the goggles tight against his face and bound to leave grooves behind on his skin. "Vizh, this is the easiest slope here. No one will bother us, they're all higher up showing off."

"Even Mantis went up with them," Vision says mournfully. Even though he hoped Mantis or Bruce might stick with him closer to the bottom of the mountain, they went further up, looking comfortable and confident.

"Oh, she's just trying to stick close to Nebula," Wanda says with an airy wave of her hand, her ski poles clacking together. "The girl might not be ready to come out yet, and I  _obviously_  respect that, but it's so painfully clear she likes Nebula. Hopefully they hook up out here and we can all stop suffering their shyness."

"Nebula doesn't seem like the type to be shy," Vision says, taking the tiniest adjusting step on his unwieldy skis.

"She's the only out person in our year and she's never had a girlfriend, believe me, telling Mantis how she feels is terrifying," Wanda says, and gives him a pointed look. "And you are just trying to stall."

"...No I'm not." She gives him a pitying look and he winces, trying to straighten up on his skis, feeling ungainly and clumsy and everything he would rather not feel in front of someone who is as pretty as Wanda. "Okay, what do I do?"

"Well, you've mastered standing," she says, and he stares at her for a moment, trying to tell if she's teasing or genuinely proud. "So look, watch me, and then ski after me. I'll show you how to stop. We'll go across the hill instead of down. Nothing to be scared of."

When he watches her ski in a line across the clean, perfect snow, she looks so elegant doing it. A sweep of colour in the white, her skis cutting sharp lines into the canvas, and his heart beats a little faster watching the curve of her body, the way she glances back over her shoulder and gives him a tiny smile. Even though her eyes are hidden behind ski goggles, he knows the colour by heart. "Come on, Vizh!" she says, and the desperate desire to make her proud and keep her attention pushes the fear clinging in a cloying cold to his skin away and he straightens up, carefully aiming his skis towards her and bending his knees like she did, fighting not to look down the sheer hill or think about all the terrible injuries he could do himself if he fell.

His slowing down is not the most dignified thing in the world, but he avoids crashing into Wanda and does manage to come to a complete stop somewhere nearby her. And the pride shining in her eyes behind her goggles is worth every ounce of nervous adrenaline and every irregular beat of his heart, her heavily-gloved hand on his arm making his breath stutter. "You did so good!" she says proudly, smiling up at him. "You wanna try that a few more times before we aim downhill?"

Nodding, he slowly turns himself to face the other direction, every movement awkward, and watches her glide across the snow, away from him. But he'll catch up to her, and does every time, rewarded with a sweet smile. The smile that's wound its way into his heart, and he hasn't been able to stop thinking about. Whatever he once felt for Sam, that thing he thought was love, wasn't a quarter as intense as the sudden feelings for Wanda, everything that chimes in his chest every time he looks at her, the desperate desire to make her happy, to be the best fake boyfriend ever, to stop her from having to share a part of herself she isn't ready to share. And yet, every time he thinks that what's between them isn't real, it breaks off a piece of his heart and crumbles it to hopeless dust.

Wanda never talks about  _currently_  liking anyone else. She's been open about her long-running crush on Natasha, while Vision struggles to not be jealous every time he sees them close together, and she's told him a little more about her sleeping with Valkyrie on the last ski trip, blushing fiercely while she told him how they snuck away from the group to find an empty room. But he knows there must be someone. She gets a look in her eyes sometimes, all distant and dreamy, and he's pretty sure that if anyone looked at him long enough to notice they'd see the same look in his when he thinks about her. And he has to move past it. He can't go back to a crush he's had before, he has to keep moving forward, to find the confidence to come out, and to wait for college and the place where he'll be free to make a new life and be whoever he wants to be.

Distracted by the depths of his own thoughts, he slips, and the next thing he knows he's on his back in the snow, his legs aching and pain flaring in his elbow, and he hears Wanda's frantic call of, "Vizh!" and hears the soft swish of her skis in the snow. "Are you alright?"

"I think so," he says, and she holds out her hand to haul him to his feet, skis and all. "Wanda...I don't think I'm that good at skiing."

A note of shame creeps into his voice, and she gives him a soft smile, reaching up to cup a gentle hand to his cheek. "That's okay, sweetie, of course it's okay," she says, and he tries not to blush at the nickname. "Do you wanna go back down? You can hold onto my poles, all you have to do is keep yourself upright."

"But...don't you wanna just go catch up with the others?" he asks, glancing up the hill to where he can see the specks of silhouettes against the white. Everyone else, sweeping around on the snow, the wind whistling around them, filled with excitement.

"No, I wanna hang out with  _you_ , silly!" she says, and shuffles in front of him, lifting her poles from the snow. "Just hang on. I won't let you fall."

 _But I already have_  he thinks to himself, before she starts slipping down the hill and he grabs frantically for her ski poles. With her guiding him, he can almost appreciate the art of skiing. The wind in his face, creeping beneath his clothes like ice on his skin, and the view of the sweeping mountains, the sun sparkling on the snow and the rush of it all, the excitement of the slope. But without Wanda, it would be terrifying beyond words. She anchors him to the fun of it all, rather than the fear.

She brings them to a smooth stop at the bottom of the hill, popping herself out of her skis, her boots sinking into the snow as she crosses to help him out of his. He bristles with jealousy seeing the young man in the equipment rental store giving her an appraising look, but she slips her gloves off and tangles her hand with his, pulling him towards the lights of the ski lodge and the warmth that welcomes them.

Pulling her hood down, she shakes her hair out, and for a moment all he can do is admire her, the way the glossy dark strands tumble over her shoulders, the way the tight black jumper she's wearing clings to her curves, her eyes very green and her cheeks pink with the cold. "You want a hot chocolate?" she asks, and he nods wordlessly. "Pick a couch, we'll claim it before everyone else gets back."

He chooses one in the window, to watch the way the sky is changing with the sunset, and Wanda lowers their tray onto the low table and curls up next to him, tucking her feet beneath her and wrapping her hands around her mug of tea. "I got us a slice of cake too," she says. "You like Victoria sponge, right?"

"Love it," he says, and she  _beams_ , and his heart stutters. "It was what Helen made me for my last birthday."

"I had coffee cake," she says, and moves a little closer to him, he can smell her perfume, and it's making his head spin. "Did you get hurt when you fell?"

When she asks, he becomes aware of a dull pain in his elbow, and slowly rolls up his shirt to find a long red scrape down his arm, and Wanda winces in sympathy. "It's not that painful," he says, but she still stands up and darts away, returning with a packet of antiseptic wipes and a bandage. "Wanda..."

"Sorry if this stings," she says softly, and very gently runs the wipe over his skin. There isn't much blood, barely enough to stain the white, but he can't stop looking at her, holding his breath to watch the way her eyelashes show dark against her pale skin, the concentration in her pretty face, the black polish on her nails gleaming as she wraps the bandage over his arm and deftly secures it. "There," she breathes, and her gaze flickers upwards to meet his, and he can't breathe, lost in looking at her. "Perfect."

"Thank you," he says, and breaks the spell by reaching for his hot chocolate, admiring the perfect swirl of whipped cream on top, the delicate sprinkles of chocolate melting into it. "I'm sorry I couldn't ski."

"We'll just try again tomorrow," she says, and gives him such a sweet smile that he has to distract himself trying to take a sip even though he knows his drink is too hot, and he shudders feeling it burn his lips. "Come on, Vizh, don't injure yourself! Be patient!"

"It just...looks so good," he says, blushing dully, and she giggles, reaching up to brush a curl of hair away from his eyes. Sparks skitter over his skin where her finger brushes, and he gulps thickly. "Maybe...um, tomorrow I could just stay here. I have my sketchbook. Then you could go higher up with everyone else."

"I like teaching you," she says, and gives him a sly sideways smile. "Your sketchbook, huh? What do you sketch?"

"Usually views," he says, fighting not to blush when he remembers how many drawings of Wanda there are. Her hands. Her eyes. The way her hair falls around her shoulders. Her smile. "Sometimes people from old photos."

"Any of me?" she asks, and he shakes his head, fighting down the embarrassment. "Do you do self-portraits?"

"Not really," he says. "I don't like looking at myself."

"I like looking at you," she says, and then he really does blush, the heat and colour flooding into his cheeks. "Maybe I'll sketch you. I'm not that great an artist but I draw a great line." He just stares at her, and she giggles, nestling closer to him, her head on his shoulder. "Vizh?" she asks softly, and he hums, gazing out at the way night is staining the sky, pale stars emerging against the dark. "Tell me something you've never told anyone."

As his arm naturally wraps around her, and she curls up to him, her feet brushing against the back of his calf, he stares out at the sky, thinking. There are things he's never told anyone, but that's because he doesn't want anyone to know. But Wanda told him about her past, her parents, the war, things she probably doesn't share with many people. And she said he was her best friend. And she's so warm, curled up to him, and smells so good, and he finally softly asks, "Have I told you about how I ended up in care for Helen to adopt me?"

She shakes her head, and looks up at him with curiosity brightening her eyes, and he swallows nervously and says, "I was abandoned outside a hospital when I was less than a day old. They couldn't trace my mother, so I was placed with a temporary foster family until further notice. When they did find someone with a DNA match, it turned out she, um..." Wanda's fingers brush the back of his hand, slide between is and squeeze reassuringly, and he shudders and says, "She didn't want me. Had no idea who my father was. She was an, um...an alcoholic. No interest in raising a child. Didn't even question giving me up. I have no idea where she is now."

"Oh  _Vizh_ ," Wanda breathes, and she sounds so sad, and he looks firmly down to try and stop the tears prickling behind his eyes spilling over. It's been years since he found out, he should be  _over_  it by now. "I'm so sorry. You don't deserve that."

"And I, um, I...because she drank, I was born with a heart defect," he says, his free hand instinctively going to his chest, tracing over his shirt where he knows there's a surgery scar beneath the material. "I had to have surgery when I was seven, not long after Helen adopted me. It made it difficult for me to keep up with everyone. That's why I...why I was scared of deep water. Still am, really. I fell into a pool when I was four or five. I hadn't learned how to swim because exercise tired me out a lot faster than everyone else. Could've drowned."

"You poor thing," she says softly, and reaches up to kiss his cheek. With no witnesses. Almost like she means it. "At least you have Helen now, right? It doesn't matter what your birth mother was like, because she's not your  _mom_."

"Yes, but...I don't know, there's this particular feeling..." He trails off, and Wanda squeezes his hand, giving him a sad, sympathetic smile. "It's not a nice feeling, knowing that your biological parents didn't want you. To think that my mother  _met_  me, and still...still just gave me up. I've always felt...unwanted."

"You're not unwanted," she says softly, her face shining in the light. " _I_  want you. No matter what."

He has to force himself to look away before he does something stupid. Like kiss her. Like pull her close. Like beg her to stay with him and never leave him again.

* * *

Clicking another piece of their puzzle into place, Vision looks up when he feels Mantis' eyes on him. "What?"

"You're being weird," she says, taking a long sip of lemonade and quirking her eyebrow at him. "You look like you have a secret." She gives him a sunny smile and says, "I can tell, you know. I'm really good at spotting emotions."

Cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, Bruce out on some sort of evening walk to a viewing point for the stars with a group of people, Vision shifts closer to Mantis and asks, "Do you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Of course, I can keep a secret!" she says brightly, pulling the collar of her jumper up where it's slipped down over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"So, um...what do you do if you fall for someone you shouldn't fall for?" he asks in a rush, and she just stares at him, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. "Um...so you know that Wanda and I have been dating for about three months?" She nods, her eyes wide and intrigued, and he sighs and says, "We've been faking it."

"The  _whole_  time?" she asks in amazement, and he nods. "Wow...and we all  _believed_  you! That's really impressive!" But her smile fades, she tilts her head and frowns and asks, "But wait, who have you fallen for that you shouldn't have?"

" _Wanda_!" he says miserably. "This is all because my letters got sent out, she got one, and she suggested that we could fake it so no one would find out who the other letters went to, and I...well, I said yes, obviously, I thought I was over her, but she's so sweet and kind and amazing and I can't...I think I'm back where I started. With a huge, unrequited crush on her."

"Unrequited?" she asks, and he nods, running a hand through his hair and trying to shake off the heavy weight of sadness descending onto his chest. "Um, Vision...not that it's my place to meddle or anything, but...I really don't think it's unrequited."

He looks up at her, hope blooming light in his chest, and asks, "Why...why would you say that?"

"Well, we have to look at the facts," she says, clicking another piece of their puzzle into place. "She gets into fights with her brother to protect you. She's always holding your hand. She has this look on her face when you walk into the room, all dreamy and distant and wistful. She convinced you to come away this weekend and she's hardly left your side even though she could've just gotten an instructor for you and come up the mountain with the rest of us. I think she likes you."

"How could she like me?" he asks, glancing down at himself. His navy pyjamas, edged with white piping, and his grey slippers, legs crossed beneath him. "I'm...me."

"Do you want the objective lesbian point of view?" she asks, and he manages to huff out a slight laugh. "You're definitely good-looking. You've got the blonde hair and blue eyes going for you. You're really tall, lots of girls  _like_  dating someone taller than them. You have all these lovely hobbies like reading and drawing and knitting. And you're just so  _sweet_."

"Am I?" he asks, and she gives a slight roll of her eyes, reaching across the skeleton of their puzzle to take his hand.

"You asked me to dance when I was the class weirdo and no one else wanted to," she says, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "You've never said a mean word about anyone in all the time I've known you. When people fall over running laps, you stop and help them up. You stood holding your umbrella over Wanda in the rain last week even thought it meant you got wet. You're a sweetheart, any girl would be lucky to have you."

"But does that mean  _Wanda_  wants to...have me?" he asks, and Mantis stands up, padding across the room in her pale green fluffy socks and looking out of the window at the star-scattered night.

"She's out in the hot tub alone," she says, glancing back to give Vision a small smile. "Why don't you go ask her yourself?"

He seems to move like he's in a dream. A romance novel, at the climax of the story, the princess running over the hills to catch a man and tell him how she truly feels, deep in her heart. Not changing out of his pyjamas, but simply pulling his heavy winter coat from its hook and wrapping it around himself, passing a collection of people playing Monopoly in front of the fire, and stepping out into the cold night. The wood of the decking is cold even through his slippers, but he can see the back of Wanda's head, her arms propped along the edge of the hot tub, and it keeps him moving forward.

When he gets to the steps up into the hot tub, he has to pause and catch his breath. He's seen Wanda when she wasn't quite fully-clothed, seen her legs when she's wearing the school shorts, her arms in sleeveless dresses, a pale stripe of her stomach when she wears cropped tops. But he's never seen her quite so undressed, the impossibly thin straps of her black bikini over her shoulders, and when she sits up a little straighter his mouth goes dry and he fights to keep his eyes on her face. "Hi," she says softly, barely audible over the sound of the jets.

"Hi," he says quietly, and she gives him a soft smile. He can't stop looking at her, her eyes bright, the flush the heat of the hot tub has brought to her cheeks, her smooth shoulders disappearing beneath the water, and the soft sound of the water every time she moves keeps drawing his eye. "Um...why are you out here all alone?"

"The fewer people come out the less likely I get caught," she says, and then gives him a look from beneath her lashes that sends heat skittering down his spine. "I thought you might come join me later."

"I'm sorry, I...Mantis and I were making a puzzle, I was concentrating," he says, and something flickers across her face. She leans back in the hot tub, the water up to her neck, and he winces, sure that he's done something wrong. Not sure how to fix it. "But I...I wanna be out here."

"Do you?" she asks, glancing up at him. "You can go back to the puzzle. And Mantis. I'm just trying to relax."

"Wanda, I...I don't want to be with Mantis." The moment the words are out of his mouth, he regrets them, sure that he's gone too far. But Wanda face brightens, she straightens up, and slides down from the seat to cross the hot tub, propping her arms up in front of him, her wet hair streaming back from her face. She looks so beautiful, pale skin in the moonlight, that he can barely summon the breath to say, "I want to be with you."

"Really?" she asks, and he nods, completely lost for words. Even more so when she lifts her hand to the buttons of his pyjama shirt, the cool night air playing against his skin. "Join me?"

Slipping his feet from his slippers, leaving his shirt neatly folded on the deck, he goes with her, feeling like there's a spell cast on him. He would never normally break the rules, slide into the warm water without a shirt on with a  _girl_ , but Wanda is smiling at him and his heart is pounding and he's so sure. So certain that there's no place in the world he would rather be than beneath the stars with her. "This is lovely," he says softly, and she smiles, taking his hand to draw him to sit down with her. Her thigh pressing against his, he's so keenly aware of them touching, getting more flustered by the moment. "Um...I..."

There don't seem to be the words for him to say what he wants to say, and he turns to look at her. Gazing into the green of her eyes, his hand beneath the water sliding over the bare skin of her back to curve around her waist, and she's blinking up at him, her lips shining and slightly parted, and he remembers the way she looked when they kissed in the basement all those years ago. It's the same look in her eyes, but she puts a hand on his chest, stopping him. "Wait," she says, and she's breathless, her voice sounds so  _strained_ , and a hot coil of desire tightens in his stomach. "We said no kissing. You said...you said you didn't want to be making out with someone when it wasn't real."

"It's real," he breathes, and kisses her. The fourth kiss of his life, the fourth with  _her_. And she kisses him back, her hand rising to cup his face, her feet brushing his legs beneath her water, and he just wants more, to feel all of her, to hold her so close he can't tell where she ends and he begins. Steam rises around them, and she lets out a tiny gasp against his mouth when his hand squeezes at her waist that makes his head spin, and when she leans their foreheads together and breaks the kiss he keeps his eyes closed for a long moment, savouring the silence.

" _Christ_ ," she breathes, and he opens his eyes to look at her. The pale freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose, her eyelashes stuck together with water, and the awed look in her eyes, the smile at the corners of her mouth. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

"How long?" he asks, still dumbfounded and lost for words. She gives him a silky smile, and lifts herself from the seat to slide into his lap, her arms around his neck, and he's overwhelmed by her warm weight on top of him, everywhere he can feel her skin slick against his, her fingers combing gently through his hair, the open tenderness of her gaze.

"Since a party I went to desperately hoping I'd kiss a pretty girl during spin the bottle," she says softly, her fingers playing at the back of his neck, making the hairs rise against her touch. "Wearing far too much lipgloss and clumpy mascara and something that just enhanced my lack of cleavage. And when my turn came, the bottle stopped at this sweet boy. He was new, and still small, and skinny and shy. And when I leaned across the circle and kissed him, it started something that's never ended." She runs her fingers along the faint line of the scar on his chest, making him shudder, and leans their foreheads together. "I  _like_  you, Vizh. It's real."

She brings his hands to her hips, his thoughts all shooting to the feeling of the laces holding her bikini closed beneath his hands, and kisses him again. He can tell the moment their lips touch she means it to be more intense, from the way she pushes her body into his, her hand cupped over the back of his head to angle him, and when he gasps at the way her tongue flickers softly against his lower lip she only kisses him harder, her tongue teasing at the seam of his lips before he opens his mouth beneath hers, his grip on her tightening. Desire is coiled tight like a spring in his belly, hot enough to burn, and there's a noise at the back of his throat he never would've imagined himself making when she presses impossibly closer, her hand dragging his up to the edge of her bikini. Encouraging his fingers to curve over soft, warm skin, and she pulls her mouth from his. He makes another noise, and she smirks, dipping her head to kiss his neck, and he gasps at the slight rock of her hips into his. It should never stop, the world should always be this. Them in a hot tub, pressed close together, Wanda's eyes shining dark when she kisses him again, and he tries to return her intensity, tasting the warmth of her shuddering breath.

She shoots suddenly backwards out of his lap, panting, leaving him cold without her close. "We should stop," she says softly, and he blinks at her in dizzy confusion, head still fogged with desire. "I'm sorry. I got carried away." She gives a slight self-deprecating laugh and says, "That's what happens when you finally really kiss someone you've liked for four years."

"We don't have to stop," he says, still dizzy, and she giggles, climbing up out of the hot tub and grabbing a neatly folded dress, pulling it down over herself to hide all her warm, pale, touchable skin, leaning over to squeeze water out of her hair. "Wanda?"

"You shouldn't be a cliché like me and lose your virginity on the ski trip," she says, and he flushes, suddenly becoming aware of exactly how aroused he is, sinking further down into the water. "You deserve something...special."

"This could be special," he says, words running away before he's really though about them, and she shakes her head fondly.

"Okay, tiger, I think it's time for you to go to bed," she says, and unfurls a towelling robe with a flourish. "Come on. I'll walk you up."

Their hands stay linked while he shuffles after her, robe tied tightly around his waist, and when they get upstairs she smiles up into his eyes and rises onto her tiptoes to kiss him again, her hand cupped gently to his cheek. She's still smiling when she pulls away, whispering, "See you in the morning?"

"Of course," he breathes, and she beams and drops one last sweet kiss on his lips before she turns away into the girls' half of the lodge.

Bruce still hasn't returned to their room. Meaning Vision can stand alone in sodden pyjama trousers and no shirt, and bury his grinning, burning face in his hands, smiling in delight.

* * *

When Vision wakes up, the shower is running, and he glances at the clock to see they only have half an hour before they have to be outside for the bus ride back. Scrambling upright, he grabs a soft pale pink jumper and a white shirt, smoothing his collar and wriggling into his jeans, grateful that he'd kept his suitcase mostly neatly packed. His fingers brush over the handles of the bag filled with condoms as he pushes a bag of worn clothes into the depths, and he blushes. If they hadn't stopped, maybe him and Wanda would've...made use of them. But in the morning light, he understands why she stopped. It's better if they wait. Save it. Make it special.

He's entirely packed and chewing on a cereal bar when Bruce emerges from the bathroom, wiping steam from his glasses. "Where were you last night?" Vision asks, and Bruce gives him a guilty glance. "I came back pretty late, but you still weren't in bed."

"I went for a walk, there's this viewpoint where you can take fantastic pictures of the mountains," Bruce says, and his eyes are shining, and Vision knows that's not the whole story. "There was a whole group of us, but it ended up just being me and Nat. And here's the thing, Vision - she told me she  _likes_  me.  _She_  likes  _me_. And she wants to meet up after school finishes. For a  _date_!"

"That's amazing," Vision says, and the words come out so easily. He's not jealous. Not now he knows that Wanda likes him, not after the way she kissed him. "I'm happy for you!"

"I can't  _believe_  she really  _likes_  me!" Bruce says, and he looks so dizzyingly happy. "I've got a date with Natasha Romanoff! I've wanted this for a whole  _year_!"

Vision lets him keep talking while they finish packing and head down to the waiting bus, a crowd of tired teenagers drinking coffee and searching for the friend they promised to sit next to. His stomach swoops when he catches sight of Wanda, so pretty in her baggy jumper and leggings, and she gives him a smile through the crowd that makes his heart lurch. Once he's packed his suitcase away into the belly of the bus, he crosses to her, and she greets him with a soft slide of her fingers against his palm.

"Hi," he breathes, hardly daring to even look at her. Maybe last night was a dream. But no, she gives him a secret smile and rises onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"Good morning, Vision!" comes a call, and Vision looks up to see Pietro approaching them. Wanda squeezes his hand, reassuring, and he stands tall. Pietro can't hurt him. Not anymore, when he knows Wanda likes him, and knows that she wants to be with him regardless of what her brother thinks. "What did you think of your first ski trip?"

"I had a nice time, thank you," he says, and Pietro grins at him. Something gleaming in his eyes. "What about you?"

"Not as good as you, I'm sure," Pietro says, and brushes past him onto the bus.

"Ignore him," Wanda says, and he glances down at her, beaming up at him. "He can't hurt us. Not today." He smiles down at her and lets her tug him onto the bus. They're greeted by an explosive wolf-whistle and guffawing from the group near the front, and Wanda just rolls her eyes. "They're like this with  _every_  couple on ski trips," she says, and as they sit down she whispers, "But they never even suspected me and Val last year."

He drifts on the journey home, occasionally waking to the weight of Wanda's head on his shoulder, glancing at her asleep next to him and smiling affectionately before he closes his eyes again. It's such a perfect bubble of bliss that he never wants to leave, curled up to the girl he adores. Who adores him right back. It's something he's always wanted, and now he has it, and he slides his arm around Wanda as gently as he can to avoid waking her, and kisses her temple before he settles back into the seat and waits to be taken by sleep again.

He's woken by the jolt of the bus stopping in the school parking lot, and shakes Wanda awake too. It feels like coming back from some crazy daydream, reality hitting with a bump. Except it's  _real_. Wanda wants to be with him, and she's smiling at him, and they're shuffling off the bus and he's grabbing their suitcases. "So," he says, and she grins.

"So," she agrees, and he blushes. "Do you want-" She's cut off by his phone starting to ring, and he gives her an apologetic shrug before he moves away to answer.

"Hey big guy, congratulations!" Tony says, far too loudly, and Vision winces and instinctively jerks the phone away from his ear. "I can't believe you did that and you didn't  _immediately_  tell me! What happened to us being the bestest of friends?"

"What are you talking about?" Vision asks, and hears Tony sigh so heavily it almost feels like the air whistles through the phone.

"You and Wanda!" Tony says, and Vision's neck heats up with a blush. "Nice going!"

"How did you find out about that?" Vision asks, glancing at Wanda. "We didn't tell anyone yet."

"Haven't you checked Instagram today?" Tony asks, and a terrible cold drips down Vision's back. "You're going pretty viral among the year group, big guy."

Vision hangs up on Tony without a word, hand shaking, and clicks into Instagram. He barely checks it, but Tony has to be lying, there can't be something there. But he has so many notifications his eyes blur looking at them, nausea rising sour in his chest, and when he clicks on one at random it takes him straight to a video. And he lets out a soft, horrified groan seeing the video. Wanda in his lap in the hot tub, her back glowing silver in the moonlight, her lips at his neck, and he can see the ecstasy in his face, his hands on her back, his chest bare, and from the video it would be hard to tell either of them are clothed beneath the water.

 **scarletsokovia:**  such a fantastic night with bae. guess nerds can be good rides too ;)  **@** **victorshade**

 **to-the-maximoff,**   **geniusstark, genuinecrystal and 129 others like this**

"Vizh?" He only looks up from his phone at Wanda's voice, the innocent smile on her face, the way she reaches for his hand making him want to recoil. "Do you wanna go get dinner? Nebula and Mantis are going for pizza with Gamora and Peter and Sam, so I don't need to give them a ride. We can go out."

"I don't want to go anywhere with you," he says, taking a step away from her. "Why would you  _do_  that?"

"Do what?" she asks, tilting her head in such a picture of innocent confusion, and he turns the phone to face her, the video playing endless, showing the way they kissed each other so frantically. Making it look like they had  _sex_. Her face pales several shades, leaving her a shade of grey, and she looks up at him, saying, "Vizh, I didn't...I didn't  _post_  that, I would never, I-"

"Now you're  _lying_  to me!" he breathes, tears prickling hot behind his eyes, and he blinks rapidly, determined to hold them back. He won't cry in front of her, not when she just used him, posted a video of a private moment, obviously never wanted him as anything more than just another nerd to  _try out_.

"I'm not lying, why would I  _do_  that?!" she asks, and he sees a sheen of tears in her eyes and wants to shout. Scream. Tell her she's a liar and a terrible person and he never wants to see her again. But he can't, his voice withering away inside of him. All he wants to do is curl up and cry. "Please, Vizh,  _please_ , you have to believe me."

"I don't have to do anything," he says, and sharply pulls up the handle on his suitcase. "Leave me alone."

"Let me drive you home," she says frantically. "Look, we can talk. I didn't post that, I'll delete it, I'll-"

"Didn't you look at the like count?" he snaps. "Everyone already saw it. Congratulations on boosting your popularity by getting a good ride from the school nerd."

" _Vizh_ , just come with me, let me  _explain_ -"

"I don't want to go anywhere with you," he says dully, and walks away.

" _Vision_!" There's a break in her voice, like she's crying, but he refuses to look back at her. He won't let his resolve crumble. He'll be strong, even though everyone is looking and whispering and he can feel their eyes like needles in his skin.

He walks home, night falling around him, the wind creeping into his clothes, making him shiver. And he keeps walking, suitcase rattling over the ground behind him, and he can't stop thinking. Seeing his own face on the phone screen, the way his lips parted when Wanda kissed his neck, all the comments congratulating her on breaking his walls. Patting her on the back for getting the nerd to give her public sex.

When he opens the door, so miserable and hot with betrayal that he feels sick with it, Helen is waiting for him, giving him a soft smile. "How was your weekend, sweetheart?" she asks, and then looks at him for a long moment, her smooth smile furrowing into concern. "Sweetheart? Vision? What happened, what's wrong?"

There's only one word he manages to say before he dissolves into tears. One he doesn't say very often. A word that makes Helen cross the room in short, quick strides to wrap her arms around him and cradles him as he sobs brokenly, crying out the cracks in his heart.

" _Mum_."


	5. you were a thief, you stole my heart

**A/N:** Sorry for the long delay! Life just hit really hard. But here is the penultimate chapter that is hopefully worth the wait! If you want to chat or yell at me about this fic, my tumblr is [here](https://mximoffromanoff.tumblr.com/) and I'm always open to questions :) Chapter title from  _Just Give Me A Reason_ by Pink ft. Nate Ruess.

* * *

Nudging the pile of crumpled, damp tissues aside, Helen gently sets a mug of hot chocolate down in front of Vision, tucking the blanket tighter around his shoulders like he's eight years old and looking for comfort after a nightmare brought on by a too-vivid description in a book. "Do you need anything else?" she asks, her voice soft and soothing. "I made brownies yesterday."

"I'm okay." He barely recognises his own voice, small and sad, and reaches for the mug, curling his fingers around it and pulling it against his chest. The sweet smell of sugar rising in the curlicues of steam, and he blinks back more tears, remembering that the last time he had hot chocolate he was with Wanda, her feet brushing his, her fingers smoothing the bandage over his arm. It's still there, covering the graze from the sharpness of the snow. From when Wanda leaned over him, her face lit up with concern.

"What happened, sweetheart?" Helen asks. She doesn't push, doesn't move any closer than the other side of the couch, but he can't help starting to crumble again, aching in the hollow where his heart used to be. Before it broke and crumbled at Wanda's complete betrayal. He shakes his head, too close to tears to dare to speak, and Helen's jaw clenches for a moment before she leans back on the couch, drawing her feet in their fuzzy slippers up beneath her, gazing at him over the rim of her cup of tea. "I just wanna help, Vision. But if you don't want to talk to me, that's...that's okay too. Maybe you should go to bed? Or maybe unpacking and reading would help?"

"I don't want to." He can't bear the thought of returning to those stories, the love that pours from the pages, all the fantasies that bore the marks of Wanda's eyes and voice and lips. The scene he read to her, his favourite confession of love, with her curled up to him and comforting him. She's worked her way into every facet of his life, and now she's gone everything is stained. With green eyes and dark hair and a soft laugh.

"Well, maybe you could...call Wanda?" Helen suggests, and the merest mention of her name makes Vision's eyes fill suddenly with tears before he can force himself to swallow them back. "Sweetheart? Did something happen with you and Wanda?" She moves closer, sets a comforting hand over Vision's shoulder, her voice even softer when she asks, "Are you arguing?"

"Helen, we..." There's so much to explain, so many words spinning in his head, and they're all spilling out of him in a stammered flood, thick with the emotion crawling up his throat, tightening his chest with the fragments of sobs that want to escape. "We were never really together, but then we were, and I...now we're not, because we...she took a  _video_ , she showed it to  _everyone_...and she said it was real but it  _wasn't_ , she just wanted me for  _street cred_ , she-"

"Sweetheart, slow down," Helen says, and Vision trails off in a broken breath, burying his face in his hands. "What do you mean you were never really together?"

"We faked it," he says, and Helen tilts her head at him. "It was a fake relationship. We weren't really dating." He bites his lip so hard it draws blood, and the words keep spilling out of him. "But then it  _was_ , maybe, I realised I still like her and I never got over that crush and she said that she liked  _me_ , but she still...she didn't. I don't think she did. She  _lied_  to me."

"Vision...why did you fake it?" she asks gently, and shame builds hot in his chest, nerves coiling tight in his stomach. "What was going on? Is...sweetheart, I don't understand. She really looked at you like it was real." Her gaze is searching his face, probing, and she asks, "Why did you fake it? Why let everyone believe that?"

"Because..." He trails off, the words sticking. Because there's only one real way to justify the fake relationship, to stop the shadow of disappointment in Helen's eyes that he lied to her, and he's so scared to say it, to step off the cliff into the great unknown of what lies outside the closet. "I wrote her a letter. A love letter. And somehow it got sent to her." He closes his eyes so he can't see Helen's face, and says, "There were five letters. And three were for people here. One was for a girl who gave it back. One was for Wanda. And one was...one was..."

"Tell me, sweetheart," Helen says softly, her fingers brushing his wrist and making him start. "I won't be mad. I think it's romantic that you did that. I'm sure all five of those girls do too."

"Actually, it...there were four girls," he says, squeezing his eyes closed tighter as tears swell up in his throat. "The fifth was for...for a boy. I'm...I'm pansexual." He opens his eyes, the tears spilling over like they were just waiting to fall, and he can't bear to look at Helen. Only to brokenly whisper, "Are you mad at me?"

" _Sweetheart_ ," Helen breathes, and when he gathers the courage to look at her she's crying too, and it only makes him worse, burying his face in his hands when her hand curves gently against his back. "Of course I'm not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. I'm  _happy_ , sweetie, I'm so glad you told me. You're so brave, Vision." She dabs at her eyes with the corner of her cardigan sleeve, and asks, "Is that why you faked it with Wanda? So no one would find out?"

He nods miserably, and explains, "It was her idea. She wanted to protect me from anyone at school finding out, and I thought I still liked this boy but then I realised it was her, it's  _always_  been her. And she made it feel  _real_ , she made me think she wanted me, and then she just...she just...it wasn't real." He can't bear to tell Helen what she did, what she really did, some part of him still wanting to protect Wanda from his mother's wrath, all those feelings of affection tangled up with betrayal in his chest, and he wants her but he doesn't and there's no manual to tell him what to do in this situation. No tutorial on Youtube or guide on Pinterest. "No one wants me."

"Don't ever say that, Vision," Helen says, and there's a quiet sort of fierceness in her words. "Don't even think it. I wanted you, sweetheart. Do you know how hard I had to fight for you?" He shakes his head, trying to gain some control over the tears that just keep coming, and she grips his hand. "You know how I remember you? This sweet, shy little boy on a trip with his school, asking me real questions. You'd wandered away from the group, and when the teacher found you she told me you were stuck in care, and I wanted you for my own, sweetheart. I fought tooth and nail for you, they didn't want to give you to me. They told me you were on a waiting list for heart surgery, that you were sickly and small and might never get better, and I told them I wanted you. They told me that an unmarried Korean woman would never get approved, and I fought harder." She strokes his hair, and says, "The day I brought you home was the best day of my life. You're the greatest thing that ever happened to me. You're my son, and I love you more than anything. I'll always want you, Victor."

" _Mum_ ," he sobs out, and she clutches him closer, his head buried in her shoulder, and he can hear her sniffling too, and clutches at her. His mother, holding him, making him feel safe and special and loved. "I love you, Helen."

"I love you too, sweetheart," she says softly, and kisses his forehead, smoothing his hair back from his face in the same gentle, affectionate touch she's given him since he was six years old. And she pulls back to look him in the, gentle and understanding, and asks, "Do you want to talk about what happened with Wanda? Why are you so upset?"

"She...she made it clear that she doesn't care," he says, his voice small and muted and broken. Thinking about that video, put out there by her after she swore it was real, the way his heart dropped and his mouth went sour with nausea when he saw it. He can't reconcile the sweet girl he came to know with someone who would  _do_  that, he can't picture her being so cruel, it doesn't make  _sense_  - and yet she did it. And just when he thought that someone liked him, that he could be the person holding hands across a table and sharing milkshakes and dancing under the shimmering lights at school dances, he's had that pulled away from him.

The doorbell rings, and he tenses for a moment, imagining Wanda on the doorstep. She knows her way, he heard her calling his name when he walked away, maybe it's her, maybe she's standing there with a story and an apology, her eyes huge and pleading. He won't fall for it, he won't be like all those betrayed girls in the stories, he'll stand his ground and refuse to give her his forgiveness so easily. She hurt him and it's his right to refuse to forgive her. "Can you get it?" he asks Helen softly, and she nods. "If...if it's  _her_ , please just...tell her I'm asleep."

Helen gives him another reassuring smile before she crosses to open the door, and she turns back to him with a small smile. "It's not her," she says, and the door opens to Mantis standing on the step, hair peeking out from beneath her bobble hat and concern in her eyes, and Vision jerks to his feet in surprise.

"I thought you were going for dinner with Nebula and Peter and Gamora and Sam," Vision says, and Mantis shakes her head frantically. "Did you come here to see me?"

"We're friends and you're upset, I couldn't just go out and pretend everything is okay," Mantis says. "And anyway, everyone just...um..." She trails off, glancing at Helen, her lips thinning into a secretive line.

"Do you two need to talk privately?" Helen asks, and Vision exchanges a look with Mantis. She gives him a subtle nod and he turns wide eyes to Helen, and she's already putting a coat on, tugging wrinkled gloves from the pocket. "I'll go get us some hot drinks. What do you drink, Mandy?"

"It's Mantis, Doctor Cho," Mantis says. "A green tea would be nice, thank you." Helen nods and squeezes Vision's shoulder gently before she swings the door shut behind her, and Vision silently guides Mantis into the front room, curling himself up small on the couch. She shrugs out of her coat and tugs her hat off, running fingers through her flattened hair, and asks, "Have you checked your phone?"

He shakes his head, quietly says, "I don't want to see what people are sending me," and mistakenly glances at his phone sitting on the table. And Mantis reaches to grab it and show him the screen, scrolling through all the notifications.

**Missed call: Wanda (5)**

**From: Wanda**

**Please pick up. I need to explain.**

**Missed call: Wanda**

**From: Wanda**

**Vizh please**

**Missed call: Wanda (2)**

**From: Wanda**

**I deleted the video. I didn't post it but now no one else can see it. Please call me.**

**Missed call: Wanda**

**From: Wanda**

**Vision I'm so so sorry.**

**From: Wanda**

**Last night meant everything to me. It was real. I think it was for you too.**

**From: Wanda**

**Okay, you don't want to talk to me right now. I understand. Please just call me when you're ready.**

**From: Wanda**

**I just wanna hear your voice.**

Staring sadly at the screen, Vision is pulled away from his own thoughts by Mantis saying, "She really did delete it."

"How do you know?" he asks, and she looks away from him guiltily. "Mantis?" His fingers are clenched around his phone, the screen flickering back to life to show the unread messages, Wanda's name beaming bright, searing an ache into his chest.

"Well...after you left, things got...out of hand," she says, and his heart clenches. "We were about to leave and then Sam saw you walking away. He saw Wanda crying, but Natasha got there first. I think they both went with her, and we didn't feel like going out after that. But I checked. The video is completely gone."

"That doesn't matter, everyone already saw it," he says miserably.

"I didn't," she says, like one single pair of eyes is any comfort when he knows everyone watched it, everyone saw the way he gripped Wanda tighter when she kissed him, everyone saw her skin shining silver under the moonlight and the way it looked like they had sex. "I didn't watch it. I didn't...I didn't think she would do that to you."

"But she  _did_ ," he whispers in a tiny, broken voice. "She did it. It doesn't matter that it's gone now, that copy still exists, she  _recorded_  us. It was supposed to be this wonderful private moment and she recorded it."

"How would she have recorded that?" Mantis asks gently. "She was in the hot tub with you. Just from the angle of the video it looks like someone recorded it from their room. It wasn't her."

"Then she asked someone else to do it," he says miserably. "She had someone record us so she could use it against me, probably."

"Why don't you call her and ask what happened?" Mantis suggests. And even though her voice is soft, and sweet, and kind, just the thought of having to be kind to Wanda twinges sharply in Vision's chest. She betrayed him, she lied that it was all real, and now he can't go back to her just as his feelings for her were surging back full-force. He has to go back to who he was before her, so scared. That boy who was so afraid to come out he agreed to be in a fake relationship has to come back, even if he doesn't want to be that person anymore. "Vision?"

"Can I tell you something?" he blurts out, and Mantis nods, shifting closer to him on the couch. Her eyes wide and sympathetic, and he pushes away the thought that it's wrong because they're not green. "I'm pansexual."

" _Oh_." He looks up at her, her eyes wide, and then watches her face slowly relax into a smile. "Wow. It's so nice to really know I'm not the only closeted queer person in our year." She reaches out to take his hand, her fingers wrapped around his. And she hooks her chin over his shoulder, not moving until Helen comes back with drinks and cake and full of plans to order pizza for dinner.

He tries not to be too sad that his fingers aren't intertwined with Wanda's like they were when she walked him up to bed.

* * *

Staring helplessly at his thrown-open closet doors, Vision chews frantically at the inside of his cheek until the metallic taste of blood touches his tongue, and he sits down at the end of his bed and buries his head in his hands. He can't imagine an outfit for the day he's sure is coming, can't even reach for so much as a shirt without thinking that everyone will be staring at him in it. Everything bears the memory of Wanda's hand touching him, the pieces she complimented, everything he wore to see her eyes light up. He doesn't have untainted clothing anywhere in his closet.

It ends up being grey. The colour of shadows, camouflaging him, covering the heartache that must be visible he feels it so keenly. Black jeans, black shoes, black backpack. It's nothing like he'd normally wear, colour sucked from him, but when the world feels so blank he wants to dress to match. When the sky is grey and dour, and he has to go back to school and face everyone he's wanted to avoid, he'll dress as a shadow.

He cycles to school alone. No one is coming to pick him up, when he's barely answered his phone all weekend. But it still hurts not to see Wanda's car waiting in the street, to find her with that checked scarf wrapped around her neck and her thermos tucked into the cupholder, to compliment whatever she's chosen to do with her hair that day, to see the soft slant of her smile. And the thought of what he might be walking into makes him lower his head walking into school, keeping his gaze down so no one can catch it.

Alas, he can't do anything but look up when he gets to his locker. And he sees her almost immediately. Alone in the corridor, staring at him with so much sadness written across every inch of her face. Not surrounded by protectors or friend, her hair loose over her shoulders, the sleeves of her thick red jumper pulled over her hands. He wonders if her nails are still black, painted the way they were for the ski trip, when he could see the contrast of those dark nails against his skin.

He tries to turn away. Collecting the books he needs and slotting them into his backpack, hoisting the straps higher up his shoulders as he walks past her, trying to hold his head high. To show her that he doesn't need her, he doesn't need to see the face that betrayed him, he doesn't need anything to replace that memory of her with her eyes filling with tears.

"Vizh." He can barely hear her over the rabble of the school day, can pretend he didn't. But she repeats herself, her voice over the single syllable of her nickname for him so soft, and when he glances at her he almost breaks. She's pale, her eyes lined with shadows, and he catches a slight tremble of her lower lip when their eyes meet. "Hi."

He hesitates, and cautiously says, "Hi," back. And she smiles slightly, the smallest quirk at the corners of her mouth. He adjusts the way he's standing, not sure what to say or do, where to put his hands, what to do with the two trains of thought in his mind. One screams at him to walk away, the other to pull her into his arms and forgive her.

"Can we talk?" she asks quietly, a plea written in every inch of her face. He can't help noticing her, her battered black boots, the scuffed buckle of her belt, the flash of the overhead lighting on her rings when she tucks her hair behind her ear. "After classes? Away from everyone else? Please?"

"Wanda...I..." He stares at her for a long silent moment, the slight hope shining in her eyes, but is distracted away when a harsh wolf whistles splits the corridor. Someone looking at them, making a vulgar gesture, and before Wanda can try to ask him for anything again, weaken the resolve he found over the hours alone, he walks away. Ignores her calling after him until he gets to class, blocking out the hum of whispers and trying to focus on work.

Even when there are breaks in the school day, he moves himself to the library and works alone. He can't stand to go to the cafeteria and see the group draped around their table, see Wanda laughing, tossing her hair, her eyes bright. He can still see her every time he closes his eyes, still remember every perfect, glowing moment of them in the hot tub. Every night he goes home to Helen's worried gaze and he tells her he's fine. Even though he has no one to talk to, avoiding Tony's eyes when he tries to catch his gaze, letting Bruce stay caught up in his bright infatuated bubble with Natasha. Mantis seems to occupy her own world, standing outside no matter how the temperature keeps dropping to watch the birds. But she's all he has, and she finds him in the library sometimes. Tempts him away with offers to take him to tiny out-of-the-way cafés and for walks in the brisk December breezes.

His novels described how hard it was to forget someone who consumed a piece of your heart. They talk of weeping girls staring out of their windows in gauzy nightgowns, aching for their rakish rogue, calling his name to the stars. It's not the way that his all too real heartache feels. His isn't poetic or pretty, looking out at a night sky his beloved is looking at two while a single crystalline tear rolls down his faintly flushed cheek. It's numbness. Writing essays and filling out assignments with hardly a thought, no wonderful leap in his chest when he gets those excellent grades back, the grades that will get him into any college he wants. None of it matters when the distant idea of Wanda in his future was held so close to him then snatched away.

Mantis is perhaps the best person for him to be around. She doesn't question him again, or push him to contact Wanda. Her texts and calls come less frequently day by day, while the school is decked in Christmas decorations, a tree glowing by the reception desk and every corridor hung bright with tinsel. He hears overexcited chat about the Christmas dance the night before the final day of school, and tortures himself by reopening Instagram that night to look at what everyone is up to. Mantis offered to spend the night with him, but he insisted that he was fine sharing a take-away - another one, his favourite, because Helen still feels guilty that there's so much sadness shadowing his face - with Helen and getting an early night.

**genuinecrystal: it took about forty minutes to get everyone to pose for the photo #squadgoals**

**to-the-maximoff, nataliaromanova, redwingwilson and 123 others like this**

He stares at that photo for a long time. Allows a warmth of happiness to blossom in his chest instead of jealousy when he sees Natasha's hand resting in the crook of Bruce's elbow, his friend smiling shyly at the camera. Tony and Sam are clinking flasks that they must have snuck into the venue, grinning mischievously, and Sam has his arm around Mantis, and Vision even smiles slightly when he notices Nebula's narrow-eyed glare resting on where Sam's fingers are curving over Mantis' waist, wrinkling the silky green material of her dress. Of course Crystal looks stunning, silver dress catching the whirling lights, hair piled up in an elaborate style and studded with jewelled pins, and the way she's smiling at Pietro certainly makes it seem like maybe they won't break up this time.

Then his eyes land on Wanda, the final face he hasn't seen. She's barely in the photo, hovering at the edge of the frame, half-hidden by the breadth of Thor's shoulder. Her hair is in a neat braid, tied off with a red and green striped ribbon, and her dress is a satin-shiny black, thin straps stretched over her pale shoulders. Maybe he's imagining it, but the smile on her face looks weak, cast into shadow by something else. Some bigger feeling.

Clicking blindly into the first chronicle of someone's story, the camera swings around wildly for a second before it lands on Natasha and Wanda. She doesn't look so sad, smiling when Natasha swings her around in a dramatic twirl and whoever's holding the camera laughs so loudly the sound distorts. Then a notification slides down from the top of his screen, and he's opened it before he can stop himself.

**From: Wanda**

**I wish you were here**

**From: Wanda**

**I know I shouldn't wish that**

**From: Wanda**

**But I do**

**From: Wanda**

**I wish you'd reply to me**

**From: Wanda**

**Everyone misses you**

**From: Wanda**

**But especially me**

**From: Wanda**

**I'm still sorry**

**From: Wanda**

**You know I am**

**From: Wanda**

**Please tell me how I can fix this**

He takes in a deep breath before he messages her back.

**To: Wanda**

**You can't**

**To: Wanda**

**Not right now**

**To: Wanda**

**I don't want to talk to you**

* * *

The hum of gossip about the Christmas dance follows Vision everywhere the morning after. The two freshmen behind him in line when he cycles to the coffee shop for a tea before school are talking about the apparently legendary dance battle between Sam Wilson and Peter Quill, arguing over who really won. A pair of juniors shaking copious amounts of hot sauce into breakfast wraps, standing under the awning to hide from the drifting snow are talking about Natasha Romanoff and the new boyfriend and how they saw them kissing at the end of the night. Sophomores skidding around on the ice paving the parking lot are gossiping about how apparently Pietro Maximoff and Tony Stark nearly got into a fistfight at the after-party because Pietro thought Crystal was flirting with Tony.

Maybe she really was. But Vision doesn't care, can't care. He would've been a part of that gilded set, that group photograph, would've had a night dancing with Wanda, holding her gently in his arms. He knows that sometimes they swap partners for dances, but he would never have given up swaying with her beneath those swirling lights, never let the sharp spicy scent of her perfume fade. None of his clothes smell like her anymore.

Mantis is bright-eyed waiting for him at the door, and she deflates a little when she sees the cup in his hand. "I thought I'd surprise you for the last day!" she says, holding out another, and he smiles slightly. If he has no one else, she is such a bright ball of energy to keep him smiling when he doesn't want to. "I got us croissants too."

He smiles slightly at her, a smile she returns at his quiet, "Thank you." Taking the paper bag from her, he leans against the wall she's pushed herself against, out of the reach of the wind sending snow flurrying around the school. He tries to bite his tongue, but the question slips out before he can swallow it back. "How much of the gossip about last night is true?"

"What have you heard?" she asks, arching an eyebrow at him, and he stares down at his bag for a long moment. "The dance battle happened. I don't think anyone really snuck off to have sex in the bathroom. No one called Ms. Hill a bitch to her face."

"Did Pietro really almost get into a fight with Tony?" he asks, and Mantis sighs. "Is that a yes?"

"Thor got in between them before it was actually a fight," she says. "Gamora dragged Crystal upstairs. I think they sat and did face masks or something. Pietro was grumpy the rest of the night, he was just with his cronies." She tangles a strand of hair around her fingers and lowers her voice as she says, "She's much nicer than he is. I think she could do better."

"I'm sure she will after high school," he says. Breaking off a piece of croissant, watching the crumbs scatter over the sheen of ice on the ground, he asks, "Why didn't...Pietro's sister stop it?"

"Wanda got upset about something," Mantis says, and Vision's chest  _aches_. "She kept looking at her phone all night. Didn't even really wanna be there, I think Natasha forced a dress on her and did her hair so she had to come. Then something happened and she was crying and Natasha hustled her out. She came to the party later, but alone. I overheard her and Sam talking, I think she took Wanda for fries and milkshake then drove her home. She probably would've stayed if not for Bruce." She shrugs, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Maybe Sam went to see her. Though I don't know how he would've got to her, he had a flask and he drank more at the party."

He chooses not to pursue that avenue of questioning. It'll only serve to make him more upset, when he knows full well that it was likely because of him that Wanda was upset, because of what he said to her. It brings guilt stinging the back of his neck, hot and sharp, at the thought of her crying because of him. But surely he deserves his space, the right to be silent, the right to tell her that he doesn't want to talk right now. If he never wants to talk to her again after this strange, amorphous period of grieving for their what could've been.

The corridors are lined with pale faces and shadowed eyes, huge groups of overtired students talking about what happened at the dance, some obviously hungover. Whispers about outfits and songs and illicit kisses reach Vision's ears, and he wonders if there's some alternate reality where he went last night. Where he held Wanda's hand and danced with her and slipped outside for a breath of crisp air and a stolen kiss. He watched the lights play across her dark hair and held her coat for her and perhaps they skipped over the after-party. Maybe they wandered the streets in the cold, breath swirling silver on the air, young and infatuated and free.

A crowd has gathered at the lockers, near Crystal's, and he wonders if Mantis is wrong and the school's power couple did break up again last night. But the whispers, rising in volume, punctuated by sharp, cruel laughter. And the crowds part, and he sees Sam scrubbing violently at the door to a locker,  _Vision's_  locker, but it's not enough to hide the  _SLUT_  scrawled across it in red paint, flecks splashed across the lockers on either side.

He stops completely, a rush of cold wind in his ears, his heart picking up to a terrible drumbeat in his chest. Momentarily unaware of anyone around him, trapped in staring at that word. That word that people think he is after that video, after they all stared and laughed, after they all whispered low about him whenever he passed in the corridor. The video deleted from Instagram but somehow still circling around the student body, gossiped about in the bathroom and getting him stared at when he passes.

And he turns on his heel and walks away. Numb. Cold. Unable to process what's happening until he's broken out of the school, the wind picking up and sending snow flurries swirling around the building. Only then do the tears start to come, squeezing their way out, and he drops his head into his hands to muffle the raw, broken sounds that want to escape him.

A hand at his shoulder, and he glances at Mantis, her hat pulled low over her eyes, with that sympathy he hates so much heavy in her eyes. "I told the office you were sick, it doesn't matter since it's the last day," she says. "And I told them I would drive you home."

"I don't think I want company right now," he says quietly. He feels her hesitate, but then she steps away from him. "But will you drive me home?"

"Of course," she says. "Do you mind if we take a detour for milkshakes? Even though it's cold, I really want one."

He nods, not trusting himself to be able to speak another word without simply bursting into tears. Mantis' car is cosy, her heating turned up and her music soft and sweet, and she brings him a milkshake with extra whipped cream and sprinkles that almost sends him into sobbing. She doesn't ruin it until she pulls into his driveway and turns to him with a harsh sigh. He stares resolutely at the small smear of cream at the corner of her mouth, desperately trying to ignore her as she says, "You know you're not what that graffiti said. Kissing one girl because you wanted to doesn't make you that."

"I don't wanna talk about it," he says, and opens the door. Even though this could be a moment like a story, where he dramatically storms away, he's compelled to turn to her and say, "Thank you," before he leaves.

And her sweet face lights up with a chirped, "You're welcome!" But he has to leave her behind, to get away from anyone and everyone, run up to his room and bury himself in the blankets, a pale yellow cushion pulled to his chest, dark spots blooming in tiny ragged circles on the velvety fabric as he cries.

When he lifts his head, only a few minutes have passed. The day stretches out endlessly without the block of school to fill it, and he turns to his bookshelf. Every differently coloured spine cracked from the number of times he's turned those softened, yellowing pages, letting every beautiful love story sweep him away. He always wanted a story like that, where he glimpsed someone across a room and knew his heart was for them. Those books are the reason he wrote the love letters, hid them away after he'd finished spilling his heart out across the pages. Without the reading of these romances, he wouldn't have found himself where he is now.

Turning away from them, he looks for his sketchbook, flipping angrily through the pages. The last drawing is Wanda's eyes rendered in careful shades of grey, shining out of the page, sketched out when he couldn't sleep for the excitement of being close to her on the ski trip. Taking the page in one hand, he tears it out, leaving a viciously jagged edge behind.

He finds his paints in their drawer, fills a stray mug with water, and sets himself up at his desk. Dashes paint across the page, angry stinging reds and oranges and yellows. When he runs out of space, he moves onto the next page, until there's paint all over his fingers, dots of it decorating the desktop like multi-coloured constellations. It lets him go into a space in his head that's all swirling emotions, pushing them out onto the paper, allowing them to leave him in the short sharp jerks of his paintbrush.

The doorbell ringing startles him so much he almost spills the muddy cup of paint water everywhere. Righting himself, not bothering to wipe the paint stains off his hands, he jogs down the stairs to open the door. Then almost shuts it again in instinctive surprise when it's Sam standing there, not wearing a coat despite the ever-increasing snow. "Hey," he says, so casually. Like it's perfectly normal for him to be standing on Vision's doorstep. "I had to pick my kid sister up from school and Mom said no outside time until the snow stops falling and we figure out where there's ice. Wanna come round and help entertain her?"

"I...um..."

"Unless you have a better offer than making cookies with me and my sister," Sam says, casually leaning on the doorframe. "But the snow ain't gonna stop. And you might as well have my mom's very exclusive, take to the grave recipe in your back pocket."

He's about to refuse. He really is. But he looks at Sam, the easy grin on his handsome face, and remembers that he should be trying new things. That he'll be thrown into college out of his depth soon enough, his applications sent away now. And if he won't go across a hedge to bake cookies with his neighbour, he won't last a week on a college campus.

Sam's house is warm and welcoming, hung with richly-coloured Christmas decorations. There are family portraits everywhere, and Vision looks at one for a moment. It must be an old one, Sam's sister just a toddler clinging to her mother's hip, and Sam proudly grinning at the camera with his two front teeth missing. He looks at the way Sam's parents are smiling into each other's eyes, and feels a momentary twinge of melancholy that he was never a part of a family like that.

The kitchen is even warmer than the rest of the house, painted a bright buttery yellow that Vision instantly likes, and Sam's sister is sifting flour into a bowl, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her hair is scraped up into a topknot and her bright blue jumper features a grinning reindeer face, and she wriggles away when Sam puts an arm around her. "This is Lydia, my mini-me," he says, and she sticks her tongue out at him. "Lyd, this is Vision. The quintessential boy next door."

"Cool, can I put my music on now?" she asks.

"We are listening to  _Christmas music_ , young lady," Sam says sternly. "And only the happy ones. None of your depressing creepy carols."

"As long as you don't sing," Lydia says, and Sam flicks sugar at her, grinning when she shrieks at him for getting it in her hair. Looking between them, Vision feels another pang that he never had a sibling. Tony and Bruce were the closest he's ever had, and he hasn't spoken so much as a word to them since the ski trip. He's been too wrapped up in his own sadness, cushioning himself against the judgement of the outside world, to speak to the people he used to value most.

Working quietly in the kitchen with Sam and his sister fills the time. Sam is so energetic, dancing around and singing along to the music playing, while Lydia rolls her eyes at him, pretending that it isn't noticeable that she's singing along under her breath too. The motions of baking, the precise measurements and the warmth of the oven and the careful rolling of cookie dough is soothing, the music and the chatter between the pair of siblings fading as Vision works. It becomes just him, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth slightly as he concentrates on cutting each cookie into a perfect circle.

The click of the door breaks through the blasting Christmas music, and Sam stops twirling a shrieking Lydia around the kitchen when an older woman who must be their mother leans into the kitchen and sighs at them. She has the same easy smile as Sam, checked shopping bags swinging from each hand that Lydia immediately runs for when she sets them down, unearthing a carton of banana milk, and their mother's eyes light up when they land on Vision. "You must be the neighbour," she says, adjusting her glasses. "I'm Charlotte."

"Victor," he says politely, feeling suddenly guilty for invading this woman's home. "Should I leave? I'm sorry, Sam invited me over, I don't have to stay-"

"Oh honey, don't worry, the more the merrier!" she says, ruffling Lydia's hair while her daughter squawks and tries to wriggle away. "As long as you're baking for me and your father, kiddos."

"This is taking advantage of the fact that we like to bake," Sam says, and his mother laughs.

"And I'm the one who let you go out on Halloween looking like you did, don't push it," she says, and Sam gives Vision a secretive smile. He almost blushes remembering that night, the time that felt so long ago, before he was this mass of misty sadness. "Are you planning on staying for dinner, Victor?"

"Oh...no, I think I'm having it with my mum tonight," he says, and Charlotte nods approvingly. She must know he's adopted, Helen made it clear to their neighbours when they moved in, but lately he's stopped specifying that Helen is his adopted mother. She's his mother, no matter what. "Thank you for the offer though!"

"Mom always makes enough food to feed a small army," Sam says. "She's trying to fatten us up so she can sell us to a witch."

"You've really clung to what I told you when you threw tantrums," Charlotte says, and Sam grins. "I smell burning, kiddos."

" _Shit_ ," Lydia yelps, darting for the oven and pulling their trays of cookies out. Much to Vision's carefully-hidden delight, his have risen the most, turned the best shade of golden-brown. And best of all, he's managed to forget for a moment about that bright red word splashed across his locker.

Charlotte lends him a tub to pack his cookies into, insists on sending him away with an extra pair of brownies for him and Helen, and when he leaves the snow has stopped. It's settled in a thick sparkling blanket over the ground, and his feet crunch satisfyingly in it, the cold a sharp tingle against his skin. He tucks the tub protectively under his arm, allowing himself a tiny smile for the enjoyable day he's had.

Helen's car still hasn't pulled into the driveway, and Vision's hand darts to his phone in his coat pocket when he sees a hunched figure huddled up on his doorstep. He starts to pull it out to call Helen, or the police, when the figure raises their head and Tony grins at him. "Finally, I thought I was gonna be sitting here alone in the cold all night."

"What are you doing here?" Vision asks, unlocking the door and letting his friend tumble into the house, blowing on his hands. "Why aren't you wearing gloves? I've told you so many times, you  _have_  to keep a spare pair in your pockets-"

"Yeah, yeah, thanks mom," Tony says. "Anyway, I didn't think you'd be hanging out with Wilson and leave me waiting. Doesn't seem your scene."

"We were baking with his sister," Vision says, setting the tub on the counter, pushing down a defensive snap when Tony rolls his eyes. "What do you want, Tony? We've barely spoken for two weeks."

"Because you haven't picked up the phone," Tony says, a little sharply. In a way that stings. "You've been busy moping over that ordeal with the video. You know Maximoff has spent every waking minute trying to apologise?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Vision says, flicking the switch on the kettle to make himself a hot chocolate. "I'd like to be alone, Tony."

"Damn, I just came over to give you your Christmas present," Tony says, and holds out a box wrapped so neatly it must have been the family butler that did it. "Me and Bruce were gonna surprise you by taking you out for lunch, but you disappeared."

Vision takes the box carefully in his hands, feeling so suddenly guilty for being sharp. They've been friends for a long time, and he shouldn't let his current state of emotional turmoil affect that. "Thank you, Tony," he says. "I hope you don't mind if I wait to open it. I'll obviously let you know what I think."

Tony smiles for a moment, then something shutters down over his eyes. He shuffles his foot along the lines of the linoleum like a child, chewing on the inside of his cheek, then says, "There's something I have to tell you."

"If it's to do with Wanda, I told you, I don't want to talk about her-"

"It's not," Tony says, and Vision stares at him, his foot-shuffling and the look in his eyes, the stain of colour creeping up his neck. "Not...directly." He moves awkwardly for another moment, then finally says, "Fuck it, I guess. I sent the letters."

It's the second time in a day that Vision has heard that roaring in his ears. That disbelief has slammed into him with the force of the ocean, and he's found his breath sticking in his throat, tears prickling sharp behind his eyes. "What?"

"I found them, in your wardrobe, and I...I saw that one was addressed to Wanda, and I had this feeling that you always liked her, and they were all perfectly addressed and you even had stamps on them and I...I thought maybe one person in five would write back, then you wouldn't be lonely...I thought..."

"You thought it was okay for you to send out my private letters to people?" Vision asks, his voice cold, almost unrecognisable. "You thought it was okay to  _out_  me?!"

"Vision, I didn't know, I-"

"You know Sam, you know I'd written a letter to another boy!" Vision shouts, his eyes filling ith betrayed tears. "Those were private, and you sent them! All this happened because of you!"

"Vision-"

"Get out! I don't want to see you!" Tony is still staring at him, wide-eyed. "Leave me alone, Tony!"

The sound of the door slamming echoes through the house until the moment he hurls himself onto his bed and bursts into tears.

* * *

The way Christmas comes is slow and sad. Snow keeps falling, scattering the ground until it's enough that Vision can constantly hear the shrieking and laughter of kids out in the streets, sledging and building snowmen and having snowball fights. Helen tries to convince him to reach out to his old friends, but he refuses to talk to them. The only person he has is Mantis, and she's in France with her parents for Christmas. So he shuts himself away in his room, writes out extra credit work until he has nothing left to do, then turns to his hobbies.

He finds the scarf he started making Wanda for Christmas still in his box. From back when they were faking a relationship, and he imagined that by Christmas they probably would have stopped pretending. But they would still be friends, and he could give her this scarf in varying shades of red and watch her wear it every day for the rest of winter. Watch her value it and their friendship.

Even with what she did to him, he can't bring himself to throw it away. He packs it away instead, tucking it deep into the depths of his room. A place where he won't come across it, but if the voice that screams at him to think things through further and forgive her wins an argument, he can pull it out and work on it. After all, it's almost finished, and he worked hard on the blend of the colours.

With no one to spend the time with, the Christmas holidays drag like they never have before. Helen tries to gently encourage him to get back in touch with Bruce, with Tony, but every time he weakens and opens their names on his phone he remembers Tony's betrayal. He remembers that Bruce will probably be with Natasha, and she's Wanda's best friend. He remembers that all those new friends will no doubt have taken Wanda's side over his, that all of them probably talk over coffee about how terrible he's being in his refusal to talk to her again, that he's ruining all the fun they could've had by making her so sad.

The day of Christmas passes quietly. In a family of two, with no one to come visit them, all they really do is open presents in the morning. He bought Helen a pair of titanium earrings, made her several pairs of thick socks since she always complains about being cold, and sketched her favourite photo of them, when they spent the summer in Korea. She squeals and smiles at his careful wrapping, hugs him tightly and presses a kiss to his forehead, and he shells open his presents. A new laptop sleeve, a sketchbook, new paints, and a box of new multicoloured balls of wool. They cook lunch together, he retires to his room to reread his usual Christmas romance after lunch, and while Helen is watching a movie he goes walking in the snow, staring up at the star-scattered sky and praying for the week until New Year's to fly by so he can leave the last few months of turmoil in the past.

Mantis is back in New York, and they end up spending New Year's together. Helen goes out with some of her friends from work, and leaves them with a bottle of wine between them and a stern lecture to only drink in the house and not touch more than two bottles. Flipping her hair over her shoulder as the hand of the clock creeps closer to midnight, Mantis stretches out her legs beneath her green dress and asks, "What's your resolution this year?"

"I don't know," he says, thoughtfully swirling his wine around his glass. "I suppose its probably to get into college."

"That's not a  _real_  resolution, we both know you work hard enough to get in!" she protests, kicking out at him. "A resolution is like that you're going to start jogging more, or eat more vegetables, or learn a new language!"

"I could do those things," he says. "Though I think I'm pretty healthy already."

"No, no, those are  _boring_ , I'm gonna come up with one for you!" she says. She gazes at him over the rim of her glass, snapping a breadstick in half in an attempt to spin it over her fingers, then suddenly straightens up. "You should do something brave and bold this year!" Uncurling her legs from beneath she says, "You should! I'll do it too!"

"What would be something brave and bold?" he asks, and she grapples for her phone, the blue light throwing her face into strange shadow. She types furiously for a minute, then turns it around to show him the message.

**To: Nebula**

**This is not motivated by alcohol. Happy New Year - I'm gay and I like you. Want to get coffee before school goes back?**

As he watches, open-mouthed at her boldness, she sends it, and a slow smile spreads across her face. It reminds him of the way Wanda smiled at him when she finished confessing her feelings, the joy in her eyes. And as fireworks whistle up against the night sky and Mantis leans over to kiss him on the cheek, welcoming the new year, he wonders if there's another reality where he's next to Wanda at a party, being soundly kissed as red and gold sparks fly up amongst the stars.

He wonders if he wants to make that real in his world too.

* * *

The sudden drop in colour of the school after Christmas is startling. Hoping that everything has blown over after the holidays, Vision is wearing the cashmere that Mantis brought him back from France, a deep vivid blue that she insisted brings out his eyes when she picked him up to go for early morning bagels. She's smiling, a flush rising from beneath the velvety collar of her deep green coat, and when they pull into the parking lot he knows exactly why.

Nebula is leaning casually against Gamora's car, still wearing only a leather jacket over her outfit despite the low temperature. She's cut her hair shorter again, a sharp blunt cut brushing over her shoulders like feathers of fire, and then she looks up and smiles at Mantis. And she slinks behind Vision, blushing, and he smiles slightly and says, "So I'm guessing your resolution to be brave paid off?"

"We went for coffee at the weekend," she says shyly. "Then lunch. And then we drove around listening to music." Her blush darkens and her voice drops as she whispers. "And then she kissed me when she dropped me at home."

"I'm happy for you," he says, and smiles at her. "Really. You deserve someone to like you like that." He nudges her slightly and says, "Go hold her hand."

Mantis beams at him and bounces over to Nebula, lacing their fingers together through their gloves. Watching them walk away, Vision smiles softly, wistfulness creeping into the gentle curve of his lips. He had that not long ago. Someone to hold his hand, to proudly walk with him through the corridors, to look at him and see something special. He could have it again, maybe. The new year has given him time to think, to pack everything that happened last year into a neat little box and stack it away. But his feelings for Wanda can't be packed away - and if they can't, he can't help but think that there might be something good in forgiving her.

In every morning class, he seems to be the only one to have fully completed all the extra credit work. Teachers are smiling at him, accepting the stacks of carefully researched and impeccably typed paper he hands them, and it takes a lot to stop himself beaming with pride. No matter how sad an ending to his year he had, he's still producing work, still getting the kind of grades that might result in him being valedictorian despite the competition. His future can still be secure, he can still got to a good college and when he's there he'll shed the fear of high school like a snake shedding its skin and finally be who he really wants to be. Maybe he'll even meet someone.

But for now, he's still ignoring Tony trying to catch his eye in the classes they share. He's noticing Bruce and Natasha walking between classes holding hands and feeling a swell of happiness for his friend, accompanied by a mournful weight of not being able to tell him just how delighted he is for him.

He's at his locker, collecting his wallet to go meet Mantis for coffee after school, and ask for more starry-eyed information about her relationship with Nebula, when the crowds start pushing against him. People are shouting for their friends, sprinting down the corridors, and he stares at the flow for a long noisy moment before someone points at him. A young girl turning to her friend, and she says, "That's the guy they're fighting about! That's him!"

A terrible foreboding bursts through Vision, and he uses the height advantage to weave through the crowds until he reaches the apex of the noise. The courtyard outside the cafeteria, crowded with people leaving at the end of the fanfare-free first day. They're clamouring for a better view, pushing at each other, and when a gap opens Vision almost runs into the fray when he sees Pietro facing down Wanda, both of them red in the face, their hands balled into fists.

As he watches, Wanda lunges for him, and he dodges and she shrieks, "You took  _everything_  from me! How could you  _do_  that to me?"

"It was for your own good!" he bellows back. "You don't wanna be with a guy like that forever. I  _had_  to do it!"

Tears are streaming silver down Wanda's cheek, whether from misery or fury Vision can't tell, and she screams, "You  _had_  to film me kissing my boyfriend?! You  _had_ to hack into my Instagram to post it?! You  _had_ to pretend it wasn't you for  _weeks_?! You  _had_  to blame your fucking  _girlfriend_  for spreading it?!"

Pietro is speechless, a gasp of horror sweeping over the gathered crowd, and Vision shrinks back into the crowds. There's a sudden hand on his shoulder, and Sam is saying, "Come on. I'll drive you home." And he nods wordlessly, following him, looking back in time to see Peter Quill dive between the warring siblings, locking his arms around Pietro and dragging him back. When Nebula darts forward too, Wanda collapses into her arms with a heaving sob audible even as Vision walks away, and he doesn't quite make it to Sam's car before he finds himself crying too.

As the grey sky sweeps past, the roads mercifully quiet with everyone else still watching the aftermath of the fight, Vision's mind is in a whirling turmoil. Wanda didn't do it. He could never have imagined her doing something so cruel, and it's because she  _didn't_ , he was right about her, it was Pietro all along. There couldn't have been anything more obvious, not with the way Pietro treated him, not with the way he treated Wanda, the way he treated  _everyone_  around him. It should have been immediately obvious, looking back it  _is_ , the regret and the guilt for walking away from Wanda when he should have trusted that she wasn't lying and loved her just the same.

 _Loved_. He loves her, it's all becoming so tragically crystalline clear, and he wants to tell Sam to turn around, to drive him back to the school and run through the corridors, run to Wanda and take her in his arms and tell her, whisper it to her over and over again until it becomes as easy as breathing.  _I love you_. Vision loves Wanda. Victor Shade loves Wanda Maximoff and he wants to tell her. He  _needs_  to tell her.

But no, his house is in sight, it's too late to turn back. And Sam moves around the room so easily, at home instantly, flicking the kettle on and opening cupboards until he finds mugs and biscuits. "Something to settle our rattled nerves," he says with his usual easy grin. But it's faded at the edges, and he scratches at the back of his neck when he moves. "That was insane, huh?"

"She didn't do it," Vision says quietly. "She didn't post the video."

"Of course she didn't," Sam says. "The Wanda I know would never have done anything like that. The Wanda I know really,  _really_  liked you." Pouring water over tea bags, steam rising in swirls, he says, "She still does."

"I shouted at her," he says, guilt hot and gnawing at the back of his neck. "I...I told her I didn't want to talk to her. I made her  _cry_."

"She's a tough girl," Sam says. Then he sighs, and softly says, "Look, Vision, there's been an elephant in the room for months. I got your letter."

Vision winces at the reminder of that humiliation, of Tony's betrayal of his trust that led to all this, and he says, "You did?"

"Yeah." The chink of the spoon against the sides of the mug fills the silence until Sam speaks again. "I was flattered/ It was quite the self-esteem boost after Sharon left me for England."

"That's nice," Vision says, feeling the aching awkwardness of the moment. A few months ago, he would've prayed to have Sam Wilson in his kitchen, moving around the room with such ease. But now his mind is irrevocably consumed with memories of Wanda, what it felt like to see her smile, to hold her hand, to touch her, to  _kiss_ her.

"So you're bi?" Sam asks, and he shakes his head. "Pan?" A little astounded that the captain of the football team knows that, Vision nods, and Sam smiles. "Me too."

Vision nearly slips where he's leaning against a counter, and squeaks out, " _Really_?"

"Yep!" Sam says cheerfully. "I'm not really that public with it. My parents know. Sharon knew. But I don't see the point in having to come out to everyone I meet. Sometimes I could have a girlfriend, sometimes I could have a boyfriend. It doesn't change who I am." He smiles slightly and says, "I have a thing for you, actually."

" _What_?!" This squeak comes out even more high-pitched, and Sam smiles. "You really meant that."

"You should realise by now that you're cute," Sam says. "I hit you with that football last year, and I remember it too. Because I knew that when Sharon went to live with her aunt she wouldn't be interested in long distance. And I didn't pursue you because...Wanda is one of my best friends, despite what she might say to the contrary, and I knew how she felt about you. We all did." He shuffles his feet and says, "But now...if you don't feel that way about her anymore...maybe...God I see why you wrote love letters instead of doing this in person." He sniffs, takes a deep breath, and asks, "Do you think something could happen between us?"

The silence holds for a long moment. Long enough to hear the swing of the letterbox, and Vision seizes the chance to get up and walk away from the tension. There are two envelopes lying on the doormat, one familiar and one new. One addressed to Wanda, lovingly and carefully, and the other with his name hastily written across it. In familiar handwriting.  _Wanda's_  handwriting.

Sinking down against the wall, Vision clutches the letter to his chest. When Sam leans out of the kitchen and quirks a questioning eyebrow at him, he quietly says, "I think Wanda wrote me a love letter."

"Well, read it," Sam says, and the switch after he just confessed his feelings makes Vision's eyes blow wide. "You can't make a decision if you don't have all the facts. And I kinda wanna know what you wrote to her."

With a long, low sigh, Vision slits both envelopes open.

* * *

_I've read about how your first kiss is supposed to feel. Fireworks, and lightning, and heat, and the sound of waves crashing in your ears. It's supposed to make your knees weak and your heart pound and your hands tremble. People can fall in love in an instant at their first kiss, that's what happens in the stories. A kiss, and then a happy-ever-after. And you know what, Wanda? You made my first kiss like that._

_Does that sound silly? I hope not. I know that it was just a party, and it was just Spin the Bottle. I'm sure that you weren't rooting for it to be me. I bet you wish it was Sam Wilson, or Peter Quill, or Tony Stark. They're all loud and confident and handsome. They're the boys I could see you with, being a pretty picture as a couple. You'd fit with them. But the whim of the bottle gave you me. You didn't have to kiss me. But you did._

_I remember it perfectly. That you'd chewed your lip gloss off in nerves, and that the gold you had on your eyes made them look very green. Your eyes are like the purest emeralds in the world._ _Your face gets even prettier the closer you are to it. I didn't know it was possible for one person to be so beautiful. Like a heroine in a romance novel._

_I think about your shirt a lot. You look good in red, it somehow makes your skin look paler and your hair look darker at the same time. And it was a material that caught the light when you moved, and it caught the light when you leaned across the circle and kissed me. I know it didn't last long. I know it was just a peck, and it's silly to keep thinking of it as being so special. But it was my first kiss. You were the first, and that's special to me._

_Maybe you're wondering how I could think that I might be in love after one kiss. But it's not just that kiss. We share a gym period, have you noticed? I have. I noticed when a basketball hit Bruce Banner in the face, and you were the first one to run for ice. And you run faster than some of the others, but you let Mandy Fournier take the winning shot when you were playing hockey. I think that you feel a lot of empathy for people. I think that's your greatest strength._

_You're a very sweet person. I know that you're part of the swim team, and that you stop to pet cats on the sidewalk, and that you wear the same necklace every day. I like your accent, how it gets stronger on certain words, and I like when I hear you speak Sokovian sometimes. It's pretty. I like that you're still connected to the place you came from._

_I think that you were a good person to give me my first kiss. I don't think that I will ever regret how it happened. I'll always keep that memory close, even if all these feelings never mean anything and we never kiss again._

_Thank you for making it special._

* * *

_I have to start by saying I'm sorry. I'm sorry that video ever went up online. I really hope that time and distance mean you know I would never do that to you. I have my suspicions about who did - hopefully I can prove them right. Regardless, it should never have been made public. That moment was so special for me, and now it's tainted, and I am so so sorry it happened that way. It felt like we were part of one of your romance novels, then suddenly we weren't._

_But I'm sorry for more than that, jaglače moj. I'm sorry that our fake relationship went so far. Starting it was a dumb idea - one of the dumber ones I've ever had. It was never fake. Not for me. Not even for a second. I've wanted to call you my boyfriend since that silly party where we played Spin the Bottle. I told you some of this. But in case you thought it was a heat of the moment lie in the hot tub, I'm writing it down. I'm baring my soul to you, so you can see that this was always real for me._

_I remember our first kiss. Our second. Our third. Our fourth. All of them were real for me. I know the colour of your eyes and when the sky matches that blue I can't help smiling. You're the only boy I ever liked, the only person. Everyone else was just a distraction, because I knew I didn't have a hope of dating you. I wanted to ask you out, but you seemed so shy, and I'd never made an effort to get to know you. And then all this happened. A dream come true. You were finally my boyfriend, even if we said it was fake. I felt like it was real._

_I screwed up. I hope you can forgive me for that. If you think I would ever deliberately hurt you, you're wrong. I could never hurt you. Vizh, I love you. I want to be your girlfriend again, for real. For as long as you want me. I want to spend every morning of the rest of my life with your eyes being the first thing I see when I wake up._

_If you can forgive me, if you still want me, I'll be waiting on the hill tonight. I'll wait until midnight. If you don't come, I'll pretend I never sent this. But just know that I'm sorry. And I hope you come. I'm waiting for you._

_I'm yours, jaglače moj. If you'll have me._

 


End file.
